If I Never Knew You
by thewhitekitten
Summary: When Cora falls asleep during a LOST marathon, she wakes up to find herself trapped in the TV show that has consumed the better part of her fangirl life. Little does she know just how great an impact her presence has on the lives of each and every character on the island. And when a special someone hears of her arrival, things get odd. What's an introverted girl to do? A/U
1. An Unexpected Arrival

**Hello! This is my first ever Fanfiction, so please don't be too harsh :) I'm still a huge LOSTAHOLIC even though the show is over, having first premiered 10 years ago (has it really been that long?!) **

**What To Expect: This is an A/U (alternate universe) story, so if something doesn't make sense, keep reading. Odds are your questions will be answered eventually. I'm a huge fan of character development, psychoanalysis, and plot twists. If that's your thing, then _welcome!_**

**NOTE: I plan on taking this tale all the way to the end, so sit down, buckle up, and enjoy the ride! My uploads may be sporadic, so I highly suggest you follow this story so you will be alerted when there's a new chapter. Also, I love psychology and slow building relationships, so if you're looking for cheap plotless smut, a different story will better suit your needs.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** I do not own LOST or Benjamin Linus. Unfortunately. If I did, well, you can use your imagination. I know I have.**

I awake to the screams of a panicked woman. I can smell smoke and ash, and something else . . . something clean. The stark contrast is confusing my senses. My eyes flicker open just as I finally register what the clean smell is. It's the ocean.

My heart begins to beat wildly out of control as I struggle to piece together my surroundings. I was laying on my dorm room bed when I dosed off not too long ago, and now warm sand sifts through my fingers as I scoot myself into a sitting position.

_Sand? SAND? Where am I? What the heck is going on?_

I sit in a stupor. The world around me is complete chaos. Men and women run screaming in all directions.

The man nearest me yells, "WALT!"

This snaps me out of my stupor, and I push my aching body to my feet, stumbling half blind in the general direction of the screaming mob. Behind us a massive whirling plane engine belches out thick black smoke and causes bursts of air to fling sand all over the place. I have to cover my eyes to keep from going blind.

_A nightmare. I'm having a nightmare._

Which isn't really that big of a surprise. I was in the middle of a LOST re-watching marathon with all my University buddies when I dosed off, so I suppose a LOST themed nightmare was bound to happen.

My foot gets caught on a chunk of debris and I stumble forward onto my hands and knees.

A pair of strong arms hoist me up. A man's voice is in my ear, yelling, "Get out of the way! Move!" I recognize the voice as Sawyer's. He gives me a strong shove and I go sprawling out in the sand a few feet away. When I look back, I find a massive flaming hunk of metal where I had been just seconds before. Sawyer is nowhere to be found.

Somehow I scrape and claw my way to the ocean, far away from the remains of Oceanic 815. A young woman is kneeling in the water near me, sobbing. I'm so exhausted that all I can manage to do is collapse in the sand, gasping, and praying desperately that I wake up soon.

. . . . .

When I do manage to wake up, the sun has disappeared. Someone has built a roaring fire and dragged me near it. I scoot away from its heat.

That's when I notice that multiple fires have been lit all across the beach. People sit hunched over near the flames, talking quietly amongst themselves.

My head is pounding with a furious intensity. What I wouldn't give for an aspirin.

"Well, well. The princess has awoken." I look up to find Sawyer standing over me with a lazy smirk on his lips. A lit cigarette hangs between two of his fingers. "Has the Doc looked at your head yet?" he asks.

I have no idea what he's talking about, and it's frustrating me. "Huh?" I grunt stupidly.

Sawyer squats down and reaches for my forehead. A sharp pain suddenly runs through my skull, and I quickly pull away from his touch. "Ouch!" I yell. "Stop it, that hurts!"

Sawyer stands and holds out his hands in surrender. "It's _your_ head," he replies and wanders off down the beach.

I reach up and gently touch the spot where Sawyer did. When I pull my hand away, it's covered with blood. For the first time in a long time I question myself for switching career goals. Why didn't I become an RN? I would know what to do right now.

But no. I had to change my major to Literature.

I lay down in the sand and fight to keep the nausea at bay. A man's figure is suddenly standing over me, and in my delirium I think Sawyer has come back to take care of me.

But it turns out the man is Jack. I want to ask so many questions, but my head injury has scrambled my brain. Besides, I'll be waking up soon, so what's the point?

Before I dose off for a second time, I hear Sawyer's voice through the clouded fogginess of sleep. He came back after all.

"Is she gonna be okay, Doc?" he asks.

"I don't know," Jack answers. "I simply don't know."


	2. A Dizzy Dilemma

To say that I'm panicked when I wake up the next morning is a gross understatement. I pinch myself multiple times, and it feels real. The wound on my forehead feels real. I've had some pretty realistic dreams before, but this one definitely takes the cake.

I find a secluded clump of palm trees away from the wreckage and have myself a nice little mental breakdown.

"It's happened," I say aloud. "It's finally happened. I've gone insane."

I can clearly see Sun and Jin from my hiding spot. Jin is digging around in the ocean for edible sea creatures. _Wait, when did that happen? Episode 1? 2? 3? Agh, I can't remember!_

The gash on my head begins to throb painfully, so I wobble my way through camp in search of Jack.

Instead, I find Sawyer. He whistles when he sees me. "You really think you should be wandering around leaking blood everywhere? Why don't you go take a nap, Doublemint?"

"Doublemint?" I look up, confused, and notice that he's chewing gum.

He pulls out a pack and tosses it at me. "Found that in your pocket last night."

Even through the dizziness I can feel embarrassment fighting to be heard. I want to say something snarky, but I'm too tired to think. "You stole my gum?"

He smirks. "I figured you owed me, you know, for saving your life. Is that not worth a piece of gum to you?"

I don't have time for this. Something is obviously wrong with my mind. Maybe I'm in a coma? Maybe I'm in a psych ward, and all these people are just crazy patients that my mind has twisted to appease the fangirl within? Whatever the case may be, I'm tired of it. I have finals coming up. That's enough to deal with.

I stumble past Sawyer and promptly pass out.

. . . . .

If someone were to tell me that I would be spending the rest of my life trapped in some sort of parallel dimension with a group of fictional characters on an island that doesn't exist . . . I would have scheduled them an appointment with a psychiatrist.

But here I am.

"Please don't wander around anymore," Jack tells me as he finishes tying a fresh bandage around my skull. "Your head laceration hasn't had time to seal shut yet, so you may feel dizzy and nauseous for the next few hours. If these symptoms persist please tell me."

"Okay," I answer.

Jack takes a look around the makeshift tent I'm squeezed under. I can read pity in his eyes. "I need to attend to the other survivors. Do you need anything . . . I'm sorry. I don't even know your name."

"Cora," I answer. "And yes. I need something to write on and write with." _Alright. I'll play along. But if I'm going to play this game, I'm going to play it right._

Jack returns sometime later with a pen and an empty notebook. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. It's one of the only things that can calm me down. My love of words is what prompted me to change my major from medical to literature. Although, now I'm seriously doubting it was for the best.

I write "People to Befriend" at the top of one piece of paper and "People to Avoid" on another.

I start with the Avoid list. _John Locke. Walt. Michael. Shannon. Boone. Anna Lucia. Artz. Nikki and Paulo. Mr. Eko._

Next I move onto the friends list. _Hugo. Jack. Clair. Charlie. Desmond. Rose. Bernard._

Those are the safest characters I can think of. There's still a whole page left, so I draw a line under that and label it "Maybe's". _Kate. Sayid. Sun and Jin. Sawyer._

"What'cha sketching, Doublemint?"

I look up in annoyance at Sawyer and shield my paper from his prying eyes. _Of all the nicknames he could have given me, and I'm stuck with Doublemint?_ This actually depresses me. "Are you stalking me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Doublemint. I'm just enjoying my freedom as an American." He waves his arms. "This here beach belongs to all of us. I can walk wherever I want. For all I know _you _are stalking _me_." And as soon as he arrives, he's gone.

I roll my eyes and look back down at my list. Sure, Sawyer becomes a great guy near the end of Season 4, but I don't have time to wait for that much character development. There are only two reasons why Season 1 Sawyer befriends people. One, he wants something from them—medicine, guns, books. Two, he wants to get in their pants. And since he's already stolen my only possession . . .

_Wait . . . Sawyer wants to get into my pants?_

I don't know whether to be flattered or mortified.

I shake this thought away and return my attention to the list. Something is missing, but I can't pinpoint what it is.

"Hey, Dude. You hungry?"

A big stupid grin pulls at my lips. I can't help it. Everybody loves Hurley. "Yeah, thanks."

"How's your, uh," Hurley reaches up and taps his forehead.

"Hurts like the Dickens. But Jack says I'll live."

"Cool, cool. So, uh, do you want chicken or beef? They're day old enchiladas. And they're airline food, so try not to be too disappointed."

I laugh and take a chicken tray. "Thanks, Hurley."

"Hey, how do you know my name?"

Oh snap. "I heard it around camp," I lie. "You're pretty popular."

He seems pleased to hear this. "So, you are?"

"Cora."

"It's nice to meet you, Cora."

"You too."

My heart is racing because of my lie. I'm usually terrible at lying. I need to keep quiet about how much I really know about these characters or it will be the end of me.

I turn back to my list and ponder who I'm forgetting to label. Suddenly, a gratuitous amount of sand spills all over me and my list.

"Hey, sorry about that," a man apologizes.

I dust myself off and smile up at the man trying to drag a large suitcase past me. But as soon as I recognize him, I have to fight to keep my smile in place. The man is Ethan, the Other who kidnaps Clair, hangs Charlie, and is eventually shot in the chest by one of the survivors.

And that's when it hits me.

The Others. I've forgotten to label the Others.


	3. What?

**Holy cow, writing this is fun! Please expect the next chapters in a few days (maybe less, we'll see). I don't think it will ever take me longer than a week to update, so don't worry. Also, Ben will be appearing soon. Patience young grasshopper.**

"My name's Ethan."

"Mine's Cora," I blurt out automatically. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _As soon as I say it, I wish desperately to take it back. _Your name is not in the manifest, you idiot! _

"Nice to meet you." He's all smiles. "How's your head?"

"I'll live. Well, according to Jack."

He drops his suitcase in the sand and brushes off his hands. "You mind if I take a look?"

"Uhhhh." I glance around nervously. I realize that my fear is irrational though. I'm surrounded by survivors. It's not like Ethan can do anything. "You're a doctor?" I ask, even though I already know the answer is yes.

"Sure am," he answers happily.

"From where?"

"Canada," he replies automatically.

For some reason, I want to laugh. In fact, the urge to laugh hysterically is starting to overpower all other sensations. That's probably not a good sign. "Well, okay. My mom always said to get a second opinion."

_Mom. Oh, God. I had forgotten all about her and the rest of my family._ I begin to panic. _Are they here too? And if not, where are they? Will I ever see them again?_

"Are you okay?" Ethan regards me with an air of confusion. "What's so funny?"

It's bad enough that I'm socially awkward and can't interact normally with other human beings. But to top it all off, I'm a nervous laugher. In case you don't know what that entails, it basically means that nine out of ten times if something upsets me I'll start laughing instead of crying. It usually plagues me at the absolute worst, most inappropriate of times. My best friend once told me that her grandfather had passed away, and I laughed. We're not best friends anymore.

I blame my laughter on my head injury and allow Ethan to assess the wound. "Has anyone found any antibiotics?" he asks. "Neosporin? Any medicine of that nature?"

I shrug. "I'm the wrong person to talk to about that sort of thing. I've been passed out for a good chunk of the time we've been here."

"I'll keep an eye out for some," he says, still smiling as he continues to pull his suitcase down the beach.

Talk about creepy.

As the day drags on I grow bored. Life in early Season 1 isn't exactly as exciting as I pictured it would be. Not without all the editing out of menial tasks the survivors must do. I spend an hour watching a lady dig a latrine in the sand. _A latrine in the freaking sand! _Being forced into a stationary lifestyle is driving me nuts.

Luckily, before I go crazy enough to do something stupid, Jack seeks me out to check my bandage. I find myself burdened with conversation. "I'm going to ask you a few questions to check your memory. It would be better if I could give you a PET Scan, just to be sure, but unfortunately I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"Okay."

"Tell me your full name," he says.

"Cora June Collins."

"Your birthday?"

"December 19, 1994."

Jack gives me a look. "Are you sure?"

"Yes?"

"So you're saying you're 10 years old?"

Crap. I had forgotten LOST takes place in 2004. "Did I say 1994? I meant 1984." A lie just seems to create itself. "Sorry about that. I was getting ready to prepare for my little sister's birthday before the crash. _She _was born in 1994."

"I see," says Jack. "Can you recite the ABC's?"

"Yes."

Jack laughs. "No, I mean can you recite them for me?"

I can feel my cheeks growing warm. "Oh, okay. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z."

"Where was our flight taking off from?"

"Australia." I feel like I'm playing a game of Trivial Pursuit: The LOST Edition.

"Well, it looks like your long term and short term memory seem to be fine."

"Huzzah."

Jack laughs again. "Huzzah indeed. You're one of the lucky ones. There's another woman who was hit on the head, and she can't remember a thing past her thirteenth birthday. Apparently she's twenty-six."

"That's . . . that's horrible." I'm glad to still have my memories. Well, I'm thankful for the happy memories, at least. I can't imagine a world without the memory of my mother. She is my hero.

Thinking of my mother has reminded me that she may be here. "Have you seen a woman that looks like me? She looks like me, but she has dark hair. Her name is Marguerite." I try to push myself to my feet, but Jack holds me down.

"You need to calm down," he urges.

"No, I need to find my mom!" Standing makes me nauseous beyond belief, and to my horror I bend over and vomit all over the front of Jack's shirt.

Perfect. Just the cherry on top of another perfect day in the life of Cora.

"I'm sorry," I groan.

"No, it's okay."

"I'm sorry," I repeat.

"Don't worry about it. Just, please lay back down."

Everyone within earshot is staring at me. I hate it. I hate being the center of attention. I hate it more than anything I can think of. Which is probably the reason why I love books so much. It's easy to get people to ignore you when you're reading.

Too embarrassed to complain, I lie back down on my blanket in the sand and throw myself a pity party.

Nobody talks to me for the rest of the day. From what I can tell, Jack, Kate and Charlie have already ventured off and found the pilot in the jungle. The Marshal that arrested Kate isn't dead yet because I can hear him moaning in pain.

Hurley makes his rounds at night and distributes the last remaining pieces of food—some papayas and airline peanuts.

"Tonight we feast like kings," I tell him, holding up the pathetic portion of food.

He smiles, but doesn't stay to chat. He's probably afraid I'll vomit on him.

Dang. If Hurley doesn't even want to be around me, I'm in serious trouble. It's time to make some friends.

. . . . .

I wake up to find Ethan sitting cross-legged next to me.

"Agh!" I yell, startled.

"Sorry," he says, holding out a hand in surrender. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."

I start scooting away. "I'm getting some serious Edward Cullen vibes from you, pal. Can you please stop?"

His brows furrow in confusion. "Edward who? Nevermind. I came to show you the antibiotics I found!" He holds up two orange medicine bottles and shakes the pills inside. His creepy smile has returned. "A few days of these and you should be feeling fine."

"Thanks." I take the bottles and go to read the label, only to find that it has been peeled off. "Really, thanks," I say, waiting for him to leave.

He stays put in the sand next to me. "What was your name again?" he asks suddenly.

"Cora."

"That's pretty. How do you spell that?"

Something screwy is going on, and it's making me nervous. Why does he care how I spell my name?

"You should really take one of those pills now, so it can start working. I brought you some water." He holds out a bottle of Oceanic water and stares me down with that awful smile of his.

And that's when I decide that there is no way in hell that I'm taking these pills. How would Ethan know what these are without the label?

Thank God Jack chooses this moment to check on me. "Morning, Cora. How's the nausea?"

Before I can even respond, Ethan asks, "Nausea?" He turns his attention to me. "You're nauseous? What other symptoms do you have?"

_Ethan has obviously not yet heard about my embarrassing vomit story. But how could that be? The whole camp must know by now._

Then I remember. _Ah, that's right. It's because he leaves every night to check back in with the Others._

_ Yep. He is definitely trying to poison me._

"Ethan found antibiotics," I tell Jack, practically throwing the medicine bottle at him. "I think you should distribute them evenly amongst the people with the worst injuries."

Ethan shoots up and reaches for the bottle. "_You_ have one of the worst injuries. _You_ need them the most. I found them, so I should get a say in who gets them!" He turns to Jack. "Right?"

Jack contemplates in silence. "I'll give her some, yes, but there are a lot of people that could also use this."

"Nope," I cut in. "I don't need any. I can feel my cut scabbing over already. I'd just be wasting it."

Ethan is furious, but hey . . . at least I'll live to see another day. Hopefully.

Ethan storms off while Jack leaves to distribute the pills. Once again I find myself utterly alone.

"Doublemint's a sacrificial saint. Would you look at that."

For the first time since I've been stuck here, I'm actually glad to hear that voice. "Can't you think of another nickname?" I beg him. "Please? Anything. Anything at all."

"Sorry, no exchanges or refunds." He pulls a cigarette out of the carton and starts to light up.

"You're going to get lung cancer and die," I tell him.

"Oh, really?" he scoffs. "What are you, the cancer police?"

"My aunt, my cousin, and my grandpa all died from lung cancer, so yes, I guess you could say that."

He pauses, the unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips, before finally returning it to the carton and shoving it in his back pocket. "You're a real pain, Doublemint. You know that?"

I smile triumphantly.

"Sawyer, I—oh." Kate pauses when she sees me. "Hey, uh, Cora, right?"

"That's me," I say.

"Kate. Nice to meet you. How's your head?"

"I'll be alright."

"Glad to hear it. Sawyer, do you know where the manifest is? Apparently Hurley's looking for it."

"What's Stay Puft need the manifest for?"

"I don't know," says Kate. "He said something about taking down everyone's names."

"He's double checking the manifest?" Sawyer looks interested. "Why would he need to do that?"

Kate's eyes dart to me and then she leans in close and says something to Sawyer. The two of them wander off without another word to me.

I reach under my blanket where I buried my list and cross off Kate from the Maybe's list and add her to Enemies.

I know, I know. I'm being childish. But, dang it, I'm bored out of my mind and Sawyer was the only one willing to spend time with me.

I bury my list and ponder the bigger problem at hand. The Manifest. _Am I on it? And if I'm not, what's going to happen to me? _When the survivors found out that Ethan wasn't on the Manifest, he just ran back to his people. But where would _I_ go?

I test out my legs and find, to my great relief, that I can stand without dizziness or nausea. My legs are sore and stiff, and it takes a few minutes to get used to standing on sand. Standing, however, has alerted my bladder that it hasn't been emptied in at least 2 days. This is an emergency situation.

When I feel confidant in my walking abilities, I break the number one rule of LOST. I wander into the jungle. Alone.

Not far, mind you. Never far enough to where I couldn't see camp if I turned around. There's just no way that I'm going to pee in front of these people. The woman who dug the latrine dug it within eyesight of the entire camp. Not my cup of tea, thank you.

I go far enough to be secluded, but not far enough not to still see one of the tents erected on the beach. I'm lucky enough to find a hollow space within a tree trunk, so I'm shielded from all sides.

I once held my pee in all day when I was at Disneyland, back when I was four and my life was bearable. I kid you not, nothing is as satisfying as releasing your bladder.

Emptying my bladder has reminded me how empty my stomach is. I'm not used to being hungry. My mother was Italian and she was always feeding anyone and everyone who came into our house. I might have an overeating problem because I associate my mother with food.

"Ugh, what I wouldn't give to eat a whole chocolate bar."

It begins to rain, and my pee is washed away.

Fancy that. It really is like a toilet.

On my way back to camp, I—quite literally—run into Charlie. He slams into me and I fall backwards into a mud puddle.

He looks stunned. "Sorry! I'm so sorry. Here, let me help you." He reaches out and pulls me to my feet.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"Uh, the little men's room," he says, darting off deep into the jungle.

_I wonder if he really does have to use the bathroom, or if that was an excuse for him to go get high?_ I shake my head in disappointment.

Now that I can walk, I spend the rest of the day wandering around the beach and making sure that none of the survivors is my mother. Part of me hopes she isn't here, so I won't have to worry about something bad happening to her. But another part of me, the selfish part, hopes she's here so I can see her again.

It's been over a year since I've last seen her because I couldn't afford a plane ticket home. I made the mistake of going to a University as far away from my home as possible, in an attempt to distance myself from my father. I was too stupid to realize that staying away from my father meant staying away from my mother as well. My father is American, but my mother is Italian. They met at University when my father was studying abroad in Italy. For some reason my mother loved him enough to marry him and move to America. They should have divorced long ago, but my mother is Catholic and nobody in her family has ever gotten a divorce. Ever. I think it would shame her beyond repair to be the one to break that chain.

Schoolwork has kept me so overwhelmed this past year that I never had time to grow homesick, but now that I spend hours by myself, I'm so homesick it physically hurts.

_I may never see her again._

After my unsuccessful hunt, I plop down in the sand, defeated. For the first time in a very, very long time I don't laugh. I curl into myself and I begin to cry.

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! You guys keep me motivated :) And don't worry, I don't plan on abandoning this fic. Too many times have I begun to read a story and then the author just stops writing without any warning. OH, THE AGONY.**


	4. Trouble in Paradise

**Sorry this took a little longer to update, but I have a job that takes quite a bit of my day away, so I can only write at night. To make it up to you, the next chapter will have Ben! :D**

_If I concentrate hard enough, I can partially drown out the sound of my parents fighting. To be honest, my parents aren't really fighting. My mom doesn't fight. She just stands there and lets my dad yell at her._

_ Today he's in an uproar over the fact that my mother discovered he's having an affair. Multiple affairs, actually._

_ Yes, that's right. My father is angry with her over something that he should be begging her forgiveness for. Men are assholes._

_ I'm not sexist. I know there are plenty of female assholes to rival the amount of male assholes in the world. People are assholes. It's in our nature, I suppose._

_ I fling my anatomy textbook off the side of my bed with all my might. I'm so pissed off I can't study anymore tonight. I decide right here, right now, that I would rather slit my throat than get married. I don't need anyone. I'll become a nurse, make enough money to buy a house, and adopt a child or two._

_ I don't need anyone._

_ My mother comes into my room a little while later. For some reason she's smiling. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. In fact, her smiling is infuriating me. She has nothing to smile about._

_"About done for tonight?" she asks. "Sorry if we broke your concentration."_

_ "We? Mom, there was only one voice in there yelling, and it wasn't yours."_

_ She leans down to pick up my textbook and places it back on my bed, looking sheepish. "We've hit a bump in the road. I'll just give him a little time to cool down."_

_ I can't talk to her when she's like this. Why the hell does she defend him? The only reason I've never called child protective services is because I was paranoid that all my siblings would get separated and we'd never see each other again. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wonder what would have happened if I had called. "I'm going to bed."_

_ "Goodnight, sweetheart."_

_ "Goodnight."_

_ She pauses at the door, staring sadly at me yet somehow still managing one of those fake smiles. It may fool my brother and sisters, but it doesn't fool me. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"_

_ "I won't."_

_ I wait until I hear her footsteps climb the stairs before reaching under my pillow to pull out all of the Ivy League college responses I've collected up. I've been too sick to my stomach with nerves to open any of them yet. I just received the last response—from Harvard—today._

_ I open this one first, slowly peeling the envelope back and pulling out the letter. _

_ Dear Ms. Collins,_

_ We regret to inform you that—_

_I can't read anymore. I feel like I'm going to throw up._

_ Once when I was 15, I bragged to my mom that not only was I going to get accepted to an Ivy League, but I would get a full ride as well. My father overheard me and told me I would be lucky to get an acceptance from the local community college. _

_I was always a good student, but that comment cut me so deep that I became obsessed with my grades, always with the intention of one day being able to rub my acceptance letter in his stupid smug face._

_ But every last letter I received is a rejection._

_ I'm in a state of shock. I don't know what to do._

_ I can hear my father upstairs in the bedroom. He's still yelling about something._

_ I gather up the rejections, bag them up, and shove them deep down in the garbage out of sight. I guess my father was right about me. I overestimated my intelligence._

_ I lie down and stare at the clock next to my bed. I watch the numbers blink to 12:00 am._

_ It's December 19._

_ Happy Birthday to me._

. . . . .

I wake up the next morning exhausted. My tears have glued sand all over my cheeks. I don't remember falling asleep. It must have been sometime during the night because it felt like I cried forever. I don't think there's a tear left in me to shed.

Jack makes his rounds and checks my wound. He has the good grace not to question my red, puffy eyes.

"Looks like you don't need this bandage anymore," he tells me. "Let it air out and scab. No more nausea?"

"No more nausea," I confirm. "So, how's your day been?" I need to make friends. I need to have some sort of safety net for the future. The people who were first to die in LOST were all nobodies—people who never became good friends with the Golden Group: Jack, Kate, Sawyer, and/or Hurley. I need to make up for lost time.

Haha. Lost time.

Geez, I need to work on my humor.

"It's been pretty hectic," he replies. "We're stranded on an island, after all."

I laugh a little too loudly and the woman kneeling in the sand a few feet away shoots me an annoyed look. Jack is kind enough to humor me with a laugh to help combat the awkward situation.

How sad is it that the only time I can act semi-normal is when I'm delirious from head trauma?

"Have the antibiotics helped anybody yet?" I ask. If they were legitimate antibiotics, I really hope they can save someone. And if they weren't, I'm curious as to what they've done.

"I don't know," Jack tells me. "It takes a few days to work into the system. Christina needed them the most. I'm about to go check on her."

"I'll come with you," I say, shooting up from my blanket. "It feels good to stand."

But the second I stand, I have to pee. Bad.

"Strike that comment," I say. "I'll just seek you out after I, uh . . . I'll be right back."

I take off in search of my hollow tree stump hideaway. While I'm doing my thing, I notice a metallic shimmer out of the corner of my eye. I zip up my pants and inspect it. In a neat little pile by my tree is a stack of chocolate bars.

I pick one up, rip off the foil wrapping, and turn it over in my hand. It's a perfectly normal bar of chocolate. I'm so hungry, and I haven't had chocolate in who knows how long. I'm a woman, after all. I need chocolate. But what is it doing here?

Then I remember that I commented yesterday on how much I wanted a chocolate bar. I stare at the tree in confusion. This must be some sort of island wish granting tree, like the magic box the Other's used to bring John Locke's father to the island.

"You know what?" I say aloud. "I'm not even going to question it. Stranger things have happened on this show. But while you're at it, magic tree, would you mind giving me some toilet paper? And chips. Potato chips are a must. Please and thank you."

I wait patiently for my goodies to arrive, but nothing happens. "What's wrong, magic tree? Come on, please don't brake!"

A commotion on the beach makes me jump. "I'm disappointed with you, magic tree." I take a big bite of one of the delicious bars, gather up the rest, and head back to the beach.

Camp is a mess when I return. Everyone seems to be in a panic. I try and rack my memory for traumatic happenings, but I can't remember what tragedy befalls the beach this early in the season. Jack spots me and rushes forward. "Where were you just now?" he asks angridly.

I swallow my mouthful of chocolate and hope it isn't smeared all over my face. "I had to go to the bathroom."

He looks down. "What are you eating?"

"I found chocolate." I hold out the bars. "Want some?"

He ignores me. "Have you seen Ethan? Nobody's seen him since last night."

"No." My heart starts to race. "Why, what's going on?"

"The medicine he found? The antibiotics? Everyone I gave them to is hallucinating."

"What?" _I knew it. That dirty creep_. I frown. "Why did you give people that medicine anyway? It didn't even have a label! How did you know what it was?"

"I could tell what it was by the markings on the pill. Only, the markings were wrong. And I find it strange that Ethan hasn't shown up since last night. Someone said he left to go to the bathroom during the night and never came back."

I don't know how to respond, so I fill my mouth with chocolate.

Jack is angry, and it's hard to resist the urge to laugh at his classic Jackface expression.

"What's going on, Doc?" Sawyer emerges from out of the jungle. "What's everyone fussing about?"

"Where were _you _just now?" Jack questions, fuming.

"What's that any of your business?" Sawyer scoffs.

"Alright!" Jack announces, spinning around to face the crowd. "Until we can figure out what's going on, nobody is leaving the beach! No more wandering off!"

"I don't think that's your call to make, Jack." John Locke steps forward. He's already strapped down with knives that he brought along for his walkabout.

Jack and John get into an argument while I slip away to think.

Ethan has gone missing. The pills he so adamantly wanted me to take were powerful hallucinogenics. _What does this solve, and what problems does this create?_ I pull out my notebook and flip to a fresh page.

I guess this solves the problem of Clair being abducted. And since Clair wont be abducted, Charlie won't find himself with a noose around his neck.

"Pardon me?" says soft voice. I look up to find Clair. "Hi," she says. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you've seen any peanut butter around?" She cradles her swollen stomach. "I've been having bad cravings lately."

I scoot over and offer her a seat on my blanket. "I wish I could say I have."

She takes a seat, looks around my living space, and asks, "Where's your suitcase?"

"Oh," I say, caught off guard. "I . . . couldn't find it. It must have been in the other part of the plane."

Clair looks heart broken at this news. Her sincerity is heartwarming. "Oh, that's horrible. You know what? Feel free to borrow any of my clothes. I'm sure you're getting tired of having the wear the same thing over and over."

"Are you politely trying to tell me that I smell?"

She laughs.

I hold out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Cora, by the way."

"Clair. Nice to meet you."

I spend the next few hours talking to Clair. She's easy to talk to. She even lets me feel her stomach when baby Aaron pushes out a foot. I'm glad she won't have to suffer through the trauma of being abducted and medicated by Ethan. She's too sweet for that.

That afternoon, after making sure no one could see me, I return to my tree. I suck in a breath when I notice toilet paper and a bag of potato chips leaning against the trunk. I surge with excitement. "Magic tree! I knew you'd pull through!" I guess its magic only works when I'm not looking. Good to know.

I rip open the bag of chips and stuff my mouth.

"Magic tree, do you think you could hook me up with something to read? Your choice. But make it good." I eat another handful of chips and add, "And some peanut butter, please. A big jar."

. . . . .

When I wake up in the morning, _The Hobbit _and a big jar of peanut butter is waiting by my tree. "You have magnificent taste in literature, magic tree. How did you know this was my favorite book?"

I'm more excited about the peanut butter than the book, to be honest. I practically run back to camp and start searching for Clair.

"Look what I found!"

She squeals in delight. "You did not! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Clair wastes no time digging in. She's halfway done with the jar when she asks if I have any water to help wash it down.

I check my bottle, but I must have drunk the last of it this morning. I ask around for Jack, but he seems to have wandered off into the jungle. What a hypocrite.

One lady tells me he left to search for water. Apparently he's been keeping it a secret that we've been out of water for almost 24 hours.

Quick! To the magic tree!

"Magic tree," I ask it, "could you please give me about a dozen water bottles?" That should tie us over until Jack gets back from finding the caves.

A twig snaps behind me. "You've found a magic tree, hm?"

I yell and spin around to find John Locke.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Jack I was out here."

"It's none of Jack's business where we go or what we do." He looks around and scratches the back of his neck. "But, you know, you really shouldn't be out here by yourself. Do you even have a weapon on you?"

I feel chastised and embarrassed. "No."

From out of nowhere he pulls out a pocketknife and tosses it in the dirt right in front of me. "Now you do."

"Ah, thanks."

He salutes me and trudges off into the trees.

Alrighty then.

I tuck the knife into my pocket and hurry back to the beach. Everyone seems to be excited about something. I find Jack has returned and is standing on top of a piece of the plane wreckage to make an announcement.

Jack grins. "Everyone, I've solved our water problem. There's caves not too far from here with a running spring."

You were too slow, magic tree. You were too slow.

. . . . .

Jack has his panties in a twist, as usual, but especially so now that Ethan is on the loose. He makes sure nobody leaves for the caves if they aren't in groups larger than 5.

I quickly find myself in a group with Charlie, Clair, Jack, Kate, John Locke, 6 random survivors, and Sawyer.

The jungle is unpleasantly humid. It's seeping up through the soil and clinging to my clothing so I feel dirty and sweaty. "How far away is it?" I ask.

"About ten more minutes," Jack answers.

Ugh.

Halfway there I give Clair the rest of my water, even though I need some myself. Dehydrated pregnant woman trumps dehydrated 20 year old.

I'm about to croak from this heat when a thunderous roar sounds from nearby as a polar bear charges at the group. Everyone starts screaming and running in different directions. In my state of panic I follow Sawyer. He's the one with the gun, I think. Or have Jack and Sayid taken it away from him yet?

Either way, I haul ass.

But the stupid thing is following me. _Leave me alone, you crazy animal! _I push past trees and brush, tropical flowers and boulders, but the bear is still hot on my trail. My foot catches on a vine and I trip and fall, rolling to a stop. I remember reading once that bears will leave you alone if you play dead, so I curl up into a ball and hold my hands and the base of my neck.

I can hear the bear. It snorts and gives me a shove with its big wet nose. It tickles me when it sniffs my ear. It tries to roll me over. _Good grief, just leave me alone! I'm playing dead, what more do you want?_

A loud popping sound startles me and suddenly the polar bear rears up on its hind legs, roaring ferociously. I look up just in time to watch Sawyer deliver the final fatal bullet. The bear falls to the floor in a heap. Aside from the struggled panting, I think it's dead.

I scoot backwards until I'm leaning up against a tree. It feels like my heart is going to explode. "What the hell?" I scream.

"Are you okay?" Sawyer asks.

"No, I'm not okay!" I yell. "I was almost eaten by _a freaking polar bear!_"

"Get up," he mocks. "You're fine."

He offers me a hand, but I don't take it. "This is ridiculous. I can't handle this anymore. I swear to God, I can't handle this anymore."

I take a few steps in the direction I think the group was heading, and my feet are pulled out from under me. I'm yanked up into the sky, swinging in midair, trapped in some sort of net.

Well, at least I'm not alone.

"Son of a bitch," Sawyer groans.

I couldn't agree more.

**Thank you to all who reviewed. Want to see more? Please tell me! Also, Ben is in the next chapter~**


	5. Holy Needle In A Haystack, Batman!

******Sorry if this is a little on the short side, but another chapter will be up soon!**

"AGGGGHHHHHHH!" I twist my fingers in the rope net and shake them with all my might. "Why, God? WHY? What did I do to deserve this? TELL ME WHAT I DID WRONG!"

"Calm down, Doublemint. You're hyperventilating."

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?" My legs have squeezed through two holes near the bottom of the net, and it's giving me a horrid wedgie. I can feel a panic attack arising. My breath gets shallow and wheezes out of my lungs like a rusty hinge. My vision blurs and sways and I can't seem to stop my stream of consciousness from pouring forth. "All I wanted was a nice quiet life, alone, with a dog or a goldfish or something. Somewhere out in the mountains where family would be too chicken to visit me. I wanted to own a large library and spend my afternoons reading until the words all melted together. I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS!"

"Would you shut up and calm down?" Sawyer snaps. "I can't even hear myself think."

"This is so typical. I have a crappy _real _life, so it's only fitting that my imaginary life is _just as freaking crappy_!" I swing my hanging legs in the air like two angry piñatas. "Help!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Somebody! Anybody! For the love of God, cut us down!"

Cut us down? _The pocketknife! _I scramble around and try to reach the knife in my back pocket, but the net has wrapped us so tightly that my arms can barely move at all. "Sawyer, I need you to get the pocketknife out of my back pocket."

"You know," he grumbles, "you'd think this would be a sexy situation, but this really isn't sexy at all."

My face sets in a frown. "Thank you. I can feel my self esteem rising as we speak."

He sighs and tries to fish the pocketknife out of my tight jeans.

Suddenly I hear a thump on the ground below us, and my heart sinks. "Sawyer?"

"What?"

"Did you just drop it?"

"Shut up."

What would my mother do in this situation? I know exactly what she would do. She would tell me to count my blessings.

Blessing #1: I'm not dead. I guess that's a blessing.

Blessing #2: I can think of quite a few people who would be worse partners to be trapped in a net with than Sawyer.

Blessing #3: Who am I kidding? My life sucks.

Something moves from far away. I see a shadowy figure concealed by the trees.

"Oh, no," I whisper.

"What?" Sawyer asks. "What do you see?"

"It's Rousseau. We're dead." I lean my head against the net. "I can't die! I don't know how _Game of Thrones_ ends!"

It's times like these when I wish I were bilingual. I've tried to learn Italian from my mother, but it doesn't come naturally for me. I can understand it far better than I can speak it. I watch the figure walk closer and I wish I had taken French in high school.

The figure that emerges from out of the jungle is not Rousseau. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process that the figure is none other than Benjamin Linus. He's quickly followed by a flurry of silent Others.

I'm not exactly sure what I feel. Ben was hands down my favorite character on the show, and call me crazy but I actually find him kind of attractive. But it's one thing to fangirl in your dorm room and a completely different thing to come face-to-face with an emotionally void, manipulative murderer. I'm filled with equal parts excitement and terror.

Instead of cutting us down or poking us with spears, the Others gather around the dead polar bear. One woman actually falls to her knees and sobs. One man rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head at the sight. I perk up when I recognize someone. Harper Goodwin, the Other's psychologist. She kneels down next to the crying woman and rubs a hand over her shoulders.

They're mourning the bear. The Other's are mourning the death of one of the island polar bears. I definitely don't remember that happening in the show.

Ben slowly turns around to glare at us. But not just any ordinary glare. No, this is one of those special calm glares that sends chills up your spine and brings to your attention that somebody is about to be murdered.

The sobbing woman stands up and stomps over to where we're hanging. "What do you want to do with them?" she asks Ben. Her eyes are red and puffy, her expression murderous.

"Us?" I can feel the laughter bubbling up and out. "Don't mind us. We're just—" _Cora, don't you dare say it_. "—hanging around." _Somebody please just shoot me and end my misery._

"Cut them down," Ben orders.

The net is lowered to the ground, and I try and untangle myself from the thick rope. I struggle to think up a good explanation to save myself, but when I look up I make the mistake of locking eyes with Ben. Those blue eyes that never seem to end have hypnotized me.

Ben's eyes quickly dart from me, to Sawyer, to me, then back to Sawyer. Then finally they rest on me. When he finally speaks, he says, "Quid tibi est?"

I stare up at him, confused. "I . . . I don't know what you're saying."

Without looking away, Ben asks, "Where is Richard? Somebody bring him to me."

"Ben," one of the men say, "the survivors Marguerite chased off are coming back. They're heading this way."

I perk up at the mention of my mother's name. "Marguerite? Who said that? Where is she?"

"You keep your mouth shut," the crying woman snaps. "What do you want to do with them, Ben?"

He stares at us for a second longer before answering, "Take them with us."

A bag is thrown over my head.

. . . . .

I wake up on a cold hardwood floor. When I sit up, the world around me spins. Everything is brighter and fuzzier and happier. My head, heavy with drugs, sways from side to side as I take in my surroundings.

I'm in a house. An actual house. With furniture and a TV and a kitchen with a stove. There is a large bookshelf in the corner and pictures on the walls. Across from where I'm sitting on the floor, Ben and Richard are sitting on a sofa.

"Do you want me to question her?" Richard asks quietly.

Ben shifts nervously in his seat. "No," he replies, although he looks unsure. "I can do it."

"Hey. Hey, Ben," I whisper, beckoning him towards me with a finger. "Hey. Come here. I need to tell you a secret." He kneels down, leans in close, and I scream, "I AM SO HIGH RIGHT NOW! I AM TRIPPING SERIOUS BALLS!"

Ben raises an eyebrow and turns to glare at Ethan, who is standing by the front door. "How much did you give her?"

Ethan takes a step back. "I guessed on her weight, and I might have accidently given her too much. It won't hurt her," he adds hastily.

"I knew it," I slur, pointing an angry finger in his direction. "I knew it all along. You drugged me, you liar. I bet you aren't even Canadian. Maple syrup. Bacon. Hockey. The great outdoors and all that jazz . . ." I slouch over and try to think of more Canadian things.

"Ms. Collins, I need you to focus." With one hand Ben pushes me back up into a sitting position and with the other hand he cups my face and gently guides me to look at him. "What is your full name?"

"You have such a nice nose."

I watch his cheeks turn pink. "Ms. Collins, what is your full name?" he repeats.

For some reason all I can think about is Thumb Wars, the parody of Star Wars reenacted entirely with thumbs. "Oobie-doob Scooby-doobie Benoobie," I answer seriously. And then I start laughing, pleased with my cleverness.

Richard, however, does not look pleased. "What year is it?" he asks.

_Ah, a trick question. Thinks he can outsmart me, eh? Well, well, LOST takes place in 2003. Or was it 2004? Okay, subtract that from 2014, and that gives me. . . carry the 1 . . . oh, screw it. _I throw my arms open, accidently smacking away Ben's hands, and yell, "2014!"

Ben and Richard exchange looks. "And what year were you born?"

"1994!" I gasp at a sudden realization. "I'm the Doctor!"

"It is currently 2004, Ms. Collins." Ben's eyebrows furrow slightly. "You're saying you're 10 years old?"

"No," I explain, "I'm saying I'm Doctor Who, and I can do as I please."

Richard sighs from his seat on the couch. "This isn't working, Ben. She's too drugged."

Ben places a hand on my shoulder and I jerk away from him. "Keep your hands off me, fiend! Don't you know who I am? I am Batman, and you will respect my badge!"

"I thought you were Doctor Who," says Ben.

"Wrong again." I spin around and lie down on my back. I watch Hayao Miyazaki characters fly across the ceiling. "I'm actually Sherlock Holmes. You can be Watson." I throw an arm over my face and break out in giggles. "Actually, you should probably be Sherlock because you're made of snark and I'm made of scones and jam and fluffy kittens."

Richard leans forward, his hands still neatly folded in his lap. "Cora, do you know who we are?"

"Of course," I answer. "But what I don't know is what kind of eyeliner you use. It's gorgeous."

Ben has to suppress a smile, but Richard plows forward with questions. "So, you have met us before?"

"Nope."

Richard leans back into the sofa. "Cora, I'm afraid you're not making sense."

"Your face isn't making sense," I retort.

Ben looks incredibly disappointed. "This is going nowhere. Ethan, how long before the drugs wear off?"

"A day or so. Maybe less. It all depends on how much I gave her."

Ben snorts angrily. "I should have measured it myself. Ms. Collins? Ms. Collins, please put that down."

I pick up the salt and pepper shakers off the kitchen table and sprinkle them over my head.

Ben tries to wrestle the shakers out of my hands. I shove my face in his button-down shirt and inhale deeply. "You smell like an advertisement for MASCULINITY!"

"Richard, help me get her in Alex's room, will you?"

With their help I stumble through a hallway and end up on a twin bed, surrounded by stuffed animals.

. . . . .

I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. I don't know how long it's been since the drugs finally wore off. When I can stand unsupported, I walk over to the door, only to discover it's locked. I start pounding on it.

I search the room for something to smash the door down with. Before I can think up a plan of escape, the door unlocks with a click, and Ben peeks inside. "I've made tea," he announces, promptly scurrying back down the hallway out of sight.

The hell?

I follow him into the kitchen where I find Richard already seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. He eyes me suspiciously as he takes a sip. "Have a seat, Cora."

I obey.

Ben hurries to set a fresh cup of tea down in front of me. "Cake?" he asks.

"Is it roofied?" I joke.

His mouth opens to answer, but then he realizes what I asked and he doesn't end up saying anything.

"Just give me the cake," I sigh.

Richard wastes no time questioning me. "You said yesterday that you know who we are, but that we had never met. Care to explain?"

I shovel cake in my mouth and shrug. _I know you because I've watched you on TV since I was a teenager, but I've never met you because you don't really exist. _"I have no explanation."

"Do you think it's her head injury?" Ben asks.

"That's possible. But I don't believe it." Richard stares me down. "Were you named after your mother, Cora?"

"No," I answer. My fork scrapes against the empty plate and I frown, disappointed. Ben jumps up and gets me another slice.

"What was your mother's name?" Richard prods.

"Marguerite." I'm suddenly reminded of something the Other's said before I was brought there. "I heard someone say my mother's name before you put a bag over my head."

"The polar bear," Ben answers sadly. "She was named Marguerite."

"Oh. I didn't shoot her, just to let you know. That was—" _Sawyer. _"Hey, where's Sawyer?"

Richard ignores me. "I don't know what to tell you, Ben. She looks like her, she talks like her, but she hasn't aged a day. It might be the head injury, or she might have just picked up the art of lying from her mother."

"Excuse me? It's rude to talk about people in front of them. And I'll have you know I'm a terrible liar, thank you very much."

"I think we should bring her to Jacob," Richard suggests. "He'll be able to tell if she's the real Cora or not."

My fork drops from my fingers and clatters against the plate. "Are you seriously accusing me of being an imposter of . . . _myself_?" I look at Ben but he looks down at his tea and won't look back up. "And where is Sawyer? Where are you keeping him?"

"James is safe. He is none of your concern, for the time being." Richard takes another sip. His voice comes out with an air of finality. "You are going to come with me, right now, and we are going to go see Jacob."

"Oh?" I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "And why is that?"

"Because." He leans back in his chair, never taking those Maybelline eyes off me. "We have your mother."

**Thank you once again to all who reviewed! I hope to update soon, but the plot gets a little complicated, so we'll see. Let me know what you think! :)**


	6. Jacob is a Jerk

_A bright flash of white. A crack of thunder. It's almost loud enough to drown out the voice in my head. The little voice that peeks out every once in a while, even though it knows it's not welcome._

_ "Eat it," the voice says._

_ So I do._

_ A few minutes later my fingers are sticky with cheese by-products, so I lick them clean, crumbling up the now empty Cheetos bag._

_ Some girls cut themselves, some girls starve themselves, some repetitively date horrible men because they think that's all they deserve. One way or another, they figure out how to deal with the pain._

_ I eat._

_ When I eat I always feel better afterwards. Calmer. More comfortable. I like the motions of eating. I like the feeling of food grinding up between my teeth. I like the feeling of it sliding down my esophagus. I like the pain of my belly about to burst._

_ I don't think I'm depressed, though. I've never truly contemplated suicide, and that's a pre-requisite, right?_

_ I look over at the little fish bowl Nemo lives in. I bought him at the pet store when I first started high school two years ago, since my father won't let me have a dog or a cat or a bird or a hamster. I watch him swim circles around his little fish bowl while I continue to lick the cheese off my fingers._

_ My door flies open so hard the doorknob cracks against the wall and leaves a crack in the stucco. _

_ "Where is she?" my father demands, striding towards my seat at the edge of my bed._

_ I instinctively flinch away from him. "Who?" I ask softly. I hate how he has such power over me. I wish I could scream at him. Better yet, I wish I could beat his face bloody, but even the mere sight of him consumes me with terror._

_ "Where is your mother?" he yells._

_ "I don't know."_

_ He picks up the first thing he sees, which just so happens to be my Algebra textbook, and throws it across the room. My textbook hits Nemo's bowl and the glass shatters all over the floor. Nemo flops around, gasping._

_ We both hear the front door open at the same time. My father makes a break for it. I hurry behind him, abandoning Nemo._

_ My mother has just returned from grocery shopping. She has a brown paper bag in each hand. "Can you take one of these bags, please? I'm losing my grip."_

_ I watch, stunned into silence, as my father knocks the bags out of her hands and hits her square in the face. She falls backwards, dropping the other bag, and immediately covers her head with her arms. Her response is so quick and instinctive that I can't help but worry that this has happened before when I'm not here._

_ Before I realize what's happening, I'm standing protectively between my father and mother, shielding her with my body, and staring my father straight in the eye. There is so much I want to say, so much cursing I want to do, but all I can manage to squeak out is, "Stop."_

_ My mother would never call the police on him, but he knows that I would. That's why he hesitates._

_ Hit me. Hit me you son of a bitch, so I can call the police and have your sorry ass hauled off to jail._

_ My eyes widen when he actually does pull back his arm to ready himself for a swing. I close my eyes and listen to the splintering of wood. My eyes flutter open. He didn't punch me. He punched a hole in the front door next to my face. He didn't punch me, but he wanted to._

_ Without another word, he turns to grab the car keys, pushes past us, and slams the front door behind him._

_ My mother, who usually plasters a smile on her face to placate us all, is in tears. She apologizes, but I don't want to hear it. I want to pity her, but for some reason I don't. I don't feel anything, really._

_ I walk back to my room and shut the door behind me._

_ I find Nemo dead._

_ I flush him down the toilet._

. . . . .

"Where is she?" I say slowly, growling through clenched teeth. My fingers dig into the palms of my already sweaty hands.

Suddenly I don't care that I'm being held hostage, questioned against my will, and accused of being . . . I'm not quite sure what, but something bad.

Ben is quick to try and placate my growing panic. "I can assure you that she is being well looked after."

I push out of my seat and start flinging anything and everything within my reach. I don't even try to aim at either of them. I just launch items in their general direction. A frying pan, a pot, steak knives, a cutting board, a bag of sugar on and on until Richard can get close enough to knock me down and sit on me.

"If you touch one hair on her head—" I threaten, biting down hard on Richard's hand that wandered too close to my face.

He cries out in pain and tries to tug his hand out from between my teeth. "Get handcuffs, Ben! Restrain her, dammit!"

I'm smoldering with fury by the time I'm pushed back into my seat at the kitchen table. I couldn't protect my mother in my real life, but I'll be dammed if I won't protect her in this fake life.

Richard looks at me with disgust as he flexes his fingers to make sure they still work.

Ben brings him some ice. "Do you honestly think she would have reacted that way if she wasn't real?" His eyelids flutter at a sudden though, and he brightens. "We're such fools, Richard! There's one last test we can give her." He hurries away down the hall and returns with a white rabbit. He sets the rabbit before me and it hops around the table. "What is it saying?" he asks, staring intently, waiting for a reaction.

I watch the rabbit hop over to me and sniff at my shirt. "I don't know what he's saying," I snap. "Or she . . . I apologize if you're a female, little bunny."

"Enough tests," Richard scowls, grabbing me roughly by the back of my shirt and yanking me up out of my seat. "Jacob will know what you are."

"I'm going with you."

"No, Ben, you're not," Richard replies.

The weird shy Ben has morphed back into the character I'm familiar with. He tries everything to get Richard's approval to accompany us to see Jacob—manipulation, weak bribes, and I'm pretty sure I heard a subtle death threat in there somewhere.

"Just let him come with us," I huff. "It's not like Jacob's going to care."

Both of them pause their argument and turn to look at me.

"What?" I snap. I'm done with the both of them, and I just want to get this all over with so I can make sure my mother is okay. "It's true."

Richard runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "See, that's exactly what I would expect you to say. What is it, some part of your master plan to—" he stops himself and begins again. "Nobody is going to see Jacob except for Cora and myself. End of discussion."

I turn to Ben and whisper, "Jacob's a total jerk, anyways. You're not missing much."

"Excuse me?" Richard's face twists into a furious scowl. "You of all people have no right to speak of him."

"Me?" I ask, aghast. "What did I ever do to him?" When nobody answers me, I throw my head back and yell, "Would someone please explain to me what is going on? I feel like I'm still high. Nothing you two are saying is making _any_ sense. Why don't you believe that I'm the real Cora, whatever the hell that even means?"

_Okay, think. For some reason both Ben and Richard seem to know me, but don't believe I'm me. Why? Richard said I looked like myself and sounded like myself, but that I hadn't aged. That must mean they knew me a long time ago. Long enough to think I would look drastically different with age._

"We don't believe you," Richard snaps at me, "because the _real _Cora is dead."

"I'm not dead," I splutter. "I'm breathing. I can feel my heart beating. I'm talking to the two of you, for crying out loud. Isn't that proof enough?"

Richard narrows his eyes at me. "I've seen what you can do. I've seen your tricks."

"Tricks?"

"You've already tried to fool me once. You will not soil Cora's memory like you soiled my—" Richard breaks off and looks away.

"What are you saying? You think I'm possessed or something?" _If they think I'm dead and possessed, they must think . . . _"You think . . . you think I'm the smoke monster?"

I watch them both for a response. Richard continues to scowl at me, but Ben looks thoroughly terrified. His eyes are wide with fear, his nostrils flair, and his lips are pressed together in a hard straight line.

"Let's just get this over with. I'm not afraid of anything Jacob has to say. I know who I am." I stand up straight and look Richard right in the eye. "Lead the way."

. . . . .

"Hold on," I pant pathetically. I have to stop and catch my breath every few minutes. I spent a lot of time in the university gym this last year, but I'm still not exactly what you'd call slim. And I don't think I'm quite hiking worthy yet either. And it's no help that I'm handcuffed. It makes it hard to keep my balance while walking over vines and fallen tree stumps. Richard and Ben follow behind me, both aiming rifles in case I try to run away.

Ha. Run away. I can't even keep up with them. What are they worried about?

Richard pushes—literally _pushes—_me along in front of him. Ben has tried to assist me a few times when I stumbled, but Richard snapped at him and now it's just me chugging along. I don't know how either of them hasn't so much as broken a sweat. I'm covered in sweat and it feels like I'm choking up a lung.

Sawyer staggers alongside me. It appears he underwent the same questioning. Obviously neither of us passed.

"Cora, are you hurt?" he asks. His voice comes out low and husky out of the side of his mouth as we walk alongside each other. His hands have been handcuffed behind his back, like mine.

My face grows warm. The worry in his voice is flattering, and he must be legitimately worried about me because he called me by my actual name. It's nice to know somebody cares whether I live or die. "No," I answer honestly. "Are you?"

"Those bastards drugged me, but besides that they haven't hurt a hair on my head. Did they tell you where we're going?"

"Didn't they tell you?" I ask.

"No."

I wonder why Richard would blurt out Jacob's name to me and not to Sawyer. I wonder if that means Richard is more afraid of me. My sisters are like that. They could keep a million secrets from our mother, but when my father asked them something they always answered the truth. They couldn't help it. Fear made the truth come tumbling out against their will.

When Sawyer speaks again, his voice is softer. "Something's not right here. They told me they have my wife. They told me I can see her if I cooperate."

"They told me they have my mother," I say, my eyes widening.

"Cora," Sawyer explains, "I don't have a wife. I've never married."

My heart instantly sinks in my chest. _They lied to me. They just said whatever they thought would make me talk. My mother isn't here. My mother isn't anywhere._

_Then again, isn't that a good thing? She isn't in this dangerous place. She isn't being held hostage._

_Well, no. Actually that's not true. She's on her own little island with my father. The only difference is I can't get to her to help make it better._

Sawyer throws his head back and asks loudly, "Where are you taking us, Eyeliner?"

I turn my head, only a fraction, so I can see Sawyers face. "We're going to see Jacob."

"Who the hell is Jacob?" Sawyer hisses.

I see the foot statue over the tops of the palm trees. Little black specks dance behind my eyelids as I stumble across the beach. I'm thirsty and exhausted. Sand kicks up into my shoes. I can't help but roll my eyes.

"I suppose you're looking for me."

The four of us spin around and come face to face with the man of mystery himself. Jacob has always looked high to me. I think it's the squinty eyes. His dirty blonde hair is a mess, as usual, and he's wearing his plain cotton pants and shirt. He's sitting on a rock, carving a small token out of wood.

"Jacob," Richard starts, "I need your assistance with something."

"Oh?" he asks, sounding bored.

Richard pulls me closer to Jacob's seat on the rock. "I need to know if she's real."

Without even looking up, Jacob answers, "Of course she's real." He looks even more stoned when he gives a lazy smile. "As real as you or me."

Richard looks lost. "That . . . that can't be possible."

Jacob finally looks up from his whittling project. "Why is that, Richard?"

"He thinks I'm dead," I explain.

Jacob's eyebrows rise. "Ah," he says, returning his attention back to his token. It looks like some sort of wooden animal.

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" The edge in Richard's voice makes me take a step back. I don't remember Richard ever being violent with anyone on the show, but everyone seems so out of character here that I don't know what to expect.

I turn to walk back to Sawyer and find Ben in a state of shock. The sight of Jacob has paralyzed him. I don't know how long it's been since he first asked to see him, but I do know it's been years. I suppose it's the same as meeting your celebrity idol.

Since his attention, for once, isn't on me, I take this opportunity to study him. His face is thinner than I remember it being. In fact, his whole body is a little bit thinner than I remember it being. His ears stick out from under his neatly combed black hair. His eyes are unnaturally blue. His nose that for some reason is just the pinnacle of perfection. The nose of all noses. I don't even understand why I find it so attractive. My breathing quickens as I make my way down. I study his mouth next. The mouth that gives that occasional twitch of a lopsided smile that always makes me happy. His shirt is a light blue, collared button-down tucked into pristinely ironed kaki slacks. Even his dress shoes have been shined. Attention to detail, even in his clothing. I should have expected nothing less. I look back up to find him staring at me.

Now, any normal person would have just looked away and pretended nothing happened. I, however, have a blinking spasm and choke on my own saliva.

Somebody clasps me on the shoulder and I flinch. A weird sensation runs through my brain. I turn to look at who's touching me.

It's Jacob. "You must forgive them," he says. "They were only taking precautions. Ben, you can let them go now. I have business to conduct with Richard." One second he's standing beside me, and the next moment Jacob and Richard are nowhere in sight.

Ben blinks, startled, and slowly comes forward to unlock my handcuffs.

The second Sawyer is set free, he punches Ben in the stomach. "Run, Doublemint! Run!"

"Sawyer! Stop it!" I try my best to yank him off, but Sawyer has knocked Ben off his feet and now sits on his chest in order to hold him down. "Get off him!"

A sudden sharp pain shoots through my skull. I gasp and hold my head, stumbling back and landing on my butt in the sand.

Sawyer is next to me in a heartbeat. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"My head is killing me. It's . . . it's gone now." I rub at my throbbing temples.

Ben sits up in the sand, grabs his fallen riffle, and rubs at the eye Sawyer punched. I want to ask him if he's okay, but a child's scream pierces through my brain and I jerk my attention to it. It's coming from deep within the jungle. "Mama! Mama! Maaaaaaammmmmaaaaaa!"

"Do you hear that?" I ask.

"Hear what?" Sawyer looks through the trees. "I don't hear anything."

"Mama! Help!"

I leap up and break out into a sprint. I surge with motherly protective instincts and charge into the forest.

I can hear Ben's panicked voice behind me yelling, "Ms. Collins, stop!"

I will not let a child die. Children are innocent. They need protecting. "Where are you?" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Don't worry! I'm coming to find you!"

I keep running, but soon I have to stop and catch my breath. While I kneel, panting, Sawyer and Ben catch up to me.

"Ms. Collins," Ben says sharply, "you _cannot _wander off alone!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I snarl. "You can't tell me what to do."

A wailing little piglet comes bursting out of the jungle. He halts abruptly when he sees the three of us and turns to flee in the other direction. "Help!" he cries in perfect English. "Help!"

"What the actual hell?" I say. "Wait!" I yell, momentarily gaining my senses back and chasing after it.

"Help!" the little piglet screeches at the top of his lungs. "Mama! Help me!"

"Stop!" I call after it. "It's okay! I'm not going to hurt you!"

In his mad dash to escape, the piglet gets his stubby little legs caught in a tangle of vines and he crashes down, screaming louder than ever. "Don't eat me," it begs. "Don't eat me!"

"I'm not going to eat you," I assure the frightened piglet. "It's okay. Calm down."

"Stay away! I'll bite you!"

"Please don't bite me," I beg. "I just want to help. See?" I hold out my empty hands. "I'm not eating you."

The piglet finally stops thrashing and oinks, "You're not going to eat me?"

"No, I'm not. Come here, it's alright." I gently untangle his legs and scoop up the little baby boar, cradling him in my arms and brushing a hand over his bristly black hair. He must have only recently been born because he's no bigger than a loaf of bread. He looks up at me with his big, frightened eyes.

Ben and Sawyer come up behind me.

"You can understand it? What is it saying?" Ben asks excitedly.

"Oh, no," I groan. "Please tell me you can hear him talking."

"I can hear him squealing bloody murder," Sawyer complains.

"What is it saying?" Ben prompts.

"_He_ thinks we're going to eat him."

"I'd rather like that right about now," says Sawyer.

I cringe and look at the piglet to see his reaction, but he doesn't react at all. I bounce him in my arms until he decides to calm down and trust me. "There we go," I soothe. "Now, lets go find your mom, alright?"

Ben takes a few steps towards me. "Ms. Collins, as much as I appreciate your need to assist the wildlife, we need to return to the Barracks. Night will be here shortly."

The piglet doesn't seem to have understood a single word Ben has said because he doesn't complain. "I'm not going to just leave him out here alone," I say.

"No, please!" the piglet squeals, vigorously rubbing his little wet snout against my arm. "Don't leave me!"

"Don't worry," I assure him, "I'm not going to leave you. We're going to go find your mom."

"Cora—" Ben starts, but I interrupt.

I hold out the baby boar in front of his face and ask, "How can you say no to this face?"

The piglet oinks, "Please, please, please, please . . ."

"What in God's name is going on?" Sawyer interrupts.

"Sawyer, what do you hear?" I hold the piglet out at him.

"Are we going to find my mama?" the piglet asks.

"It just oinked," Sawyer answers. "Doublemint, what is going on? It's a pig. What do you expect it to say?"

"I can understand what he's saying. Don't look at me like that, Sawyer. I'm not crazy."

"She isn't," Ben adds.

I turn to Ben and realize at all once just how close he's standing. He still has a rifle strung over his shoulder, but that isn't why my pulse quickens. I take a step back and try to calm my breathing. "Am I free to leave? I want to help reunite him with his mother."

"Yes," the baby pleads, "I want my mama."

Ben wears a strange expression. It looks like he's in pain but doesn't want anyone to know. His eyes roll from the piglet to me and he asks, "What is it saying now?"

"He's begging you."

I can see the gears working in Ben's head as he turns to look at the setting sun. His gaze moves to a tree, and finally he stares at the ground, thinking, his brows only slightly furrowed. I know he's only considering it to humor me, so it's no surprise when he answers, "I'm sorry, but there isn't enough time to search tonight. We can bring him home, and then release him tomorrow so he can find his mother."

I gasp at the very thought and hold the piglet protectively against my chest. "I'm not letting him run off alone! Are you crazy? There are a million things out there that could kill him."

Ben hastily takes a few more steps forward. "And there are a million things that could very well kill _us_ soon if we don't get home, now."

My bravery is wavering due to his proximity, but I'm still too stubborn to give up. "I'm going to watch over him tomorrow while he searches. You can join us in the search, if you must."

Ben thinks it over and then nods his consent.

I explain the proposition, and after much deliberation, the piglet finally agrees. His main concern is not being left alone. Poor thing.

"Has everyone lost their mind?" Sawyer complains. "Cora, you don't honestly believe you can talk to that pig."

"Get used to it, Sawyer. Much weirder things are sure to come." A thought strikes me and I'm suddenly furious. "Oh course!" I say to myself. "Jacob, that psycho. I let him touch me. I let him touch my shoulder."

Ben reaches out and touches my elbow. He pulls away just as quickly. "Stay close, Ms. Collins."

"Cora," I correct. "Can you please stop calling me Ms. Collins? It makes me feel old."

"Cora?" the piglet oinks. "Is that what I call you?"

"Yes," I answer. "And what does your mother call you?"

"Baby."

"Baby?"

"She calls all of us baby," he oinks.

"Well that won't do. Ben, what's a good name for him?"

"Pumba."

I love it, but it weirds me out that Ben has seen Disney movies. I don't know why that weirds me out, but it does. Quite a lot, actually.

Sawyer turns and looks at the piglet with amusement. "How about bacon?"

I stare at him openmouthed and horrified.

"That wasn't funny, James. My apologies, Cora," Ben says, turning his attention back to the trail.

"Keep your apologies," Sawyer grumbles. "And how the hell do you know my name?"

Ben carries the rifle the front of him, armed, I suppose, for whatever it was that comes out at night. "I know much more about you than just your name."

I follow behind them as they begin to bicker.

"What's wrong?" the baby asks.

"You can't understand them?"

"No," he answers.

Good.

I follow behind Sawyer and Ben with conflicting hopes of seeing my mother. _Were they lying? Is she really being held hostage?_

The piglet shifts in my arms and I sigh as another, less important thought fills my head.

_I'm never going to be able to eat bacon ever again._

**_Thank you to all who reviewed! I love hearing what you have to say :)_**


	7. The Legend of Cora

**Cool points awarded to anyone who knows what cartoon this title refers to :) As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys keep me motivated. I'm glad I can keep you entertained! More chapters coming soon!**

Our arrival at Othersville is met with whispers. I watch more than one person catch my eye and hurry away, while some hold my gaze with an excited smile on their face.

Several strange breeds of animals lounge on people's front porches and lawns. I see flamingos, wolves, a cheetah, a zebra, a rhinoceros, and numerous colorful birds. The cheetah gracefully trots over to me and sniffs up at my arms.

"Food?" it asks, swishing it's long spotted tail.

"No," I snap, holding Pumba up higher. "Go away."

"I want food," the cheetah growls. "Feed me, human."

"Excuse me?"

"What does she want?" Ben asks.

"She wants to eat Pumba. Get her away from me."

"Onyx, you know feeding time isn't for another hour. Go back to Amelia's."

Onyx circles me, sniffing. "You smell familiar, human. I've met you before."

"I don't remember meeting you."

"I never forget a scent," she insists. "We have met before."

An old woman calls to Onyx from her front porch.

The cat's ears perk up, and she turns to leave. "Until next time, human."

"This is bizarre," I mumble, trailing behind Ben. "Why do your people keep such odd pets?"

"They're not our pets. They're your pets. Or, rather, they _were_ your pets. A very long time ago."

We continue along in silence. Even Sawyer doesn't seem to have anything sarcastic to say.

. . . . .

I've been socially awkward for as long as I can remember. When people need to hear something, I don't catch on, and I always end up saying something stupid. My anxiety doesn't help. Half the time I'm so worried that I'll say something stupid that I end up saying something stupid just because I'm so worried.

One of the most annoying things is that I tense up when I feel attacked—physically or verbally. The bullies at school had easy pickings when it came to me. I'd always think of a snarky and witty combat _after _they left. It drove me nuts.

I blame my father for this. He had been tearing me down since birth. Chopping away at me, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but a pathetic speck of dust. I grew up with the mentality that women are to stay home, breed, and keep their mouth shut. Even though I don't agree with that at all, it's been drilled into me all my life. Sometimes I can't help but relapse back into the days when I really would shut up and sit down when my father ordered me to.

I sit nervously on the sofa in Ben's living room with a hot cup of tea warming my hands and Pumba's warm little belly in my lap. Ben left to retrieve my mother, and he's been gone longer than I hoped he would be.

Alex sits on the sofa across from me. She looks similar to my sisters—thin build, brown eyes, dark hair. Nothing like myself. I inherited the majority of my DNA from my father, unfortunately. I'm on the shorter, stockier side, with green eyes and blonde hair that darkens in the winter and bleaches in the summer. Nobody ever believes me when I tell them I've never dyed my hair. My face, thankfully, is that of my mother's—a nose that turns up at the point, a wide mouth and cheeks that bunch up when I smile. I also received her long curly eyelashes. I've never had to wear mascara—which is probably for the best, considering I'd most likely end up stabbing my eye with it by accident.

"Would you like some more tea?" Alex asks. "Are you hungry? I can get you something out of the fridge. I think we still have some strawberries." She seems sweet. Ever since she got home she's been waiting on me hand and foot.

I set my tea on the coffee table and give her a warm smile. "No, thank you. I'm not hungry." That's a lie, but I ignore the urge to eat out of boredom.

"Can I ask you something?"

I rub my nose and try to cross my legs without making Pumba uncomfortable in my lap. "Sure."

"How old are you?"

"Why do you want to know how old I am?" I ask curiously.

She looks down at her cup, embarrassment spreading across her face. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, no," I insist. "Why do you want to know how old I am?"

When she decides to look up and meet my eyes, hers sparkle with wonder. "Are you _really _her? I mean, you don't look much older than me."

"Am I really . . . who?"

"The Cora from all the legends I've been told."

"Legends?" Pumba squirms in my arms and I shift him until he finds a comfortable position.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot about your head." She taps at her forehead. "My dad says you don't remember anything."

Now I'm curious. "Tell me one."

She sits up excitedly, teetering on the edge of the sofa. "My father says you were the official animal ambassador."

_Animal ambassador? I like it. It sounds badass._

"He says you're the one that freed all of the experiments," Alex continues.

_Experiments? Oh, she must be talking about DHARMA._

It hits me hard and sudden, like a brick to the face. I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out. I realize why Richard and Ben are the only Others who recognize me personally, while the rest of the Others know me from folklore and legend. I now know why Ben can control this entire village with the flick of his wrist and a few minutes of deep thought, only to become uncharacteristically skittish and uncertain when around me. It all makes sense that the Others look after so many different exotic animals who should by all rights have eaten the Others in their sleep long ago.

Ben met me for the first time in the 70's, but I'm meeting him for the first time right now. That part of _his _life hasn't happened for _me _yet.

As if on queue, Ben comes in the front door. I shoot up out of my seat, knocking a knee against the coffee table and spilling my tea all over the floor. I take three long strides towards the front of the room, stopping short when Sawyer walks in, followed closely by Juliet, who shuts the door behind her.

"Where is she?" I ask, trying to look behind them. _Is she waiting for me on the porch?_ "Well?" I ask impatiently. "Where is she?"

Ben blinks rapidly, startled, and then glances at Juliet. "I . . . I've brought her."

"Stop screwing around with me!" I yell. "Where is my mom?"

"But—" Ben glances from Juliet to me, seeming genuinely confused. "Is this not your daughter?"

Juliet rolls her eyes to me and looks me up and down with that annoyed smirk that I hate. "I've never met this girl before in my life. I don't have children, Ben. I don't know how many times I have to say it." Her steely gaze lands on Sawyer.

"Don't look at me," he says. "I don't know what the hell is going on."

"I'm Juliet, by the way," she says, turning her attention back to me.

I shake her hand. "Cora."

"It's nice to meet you." She shoots Ben a scathing sideways glance. "My condolences for getting yourself mixed up with this madhouse."

No matter how hard I try to fight it, I'm overwhelmed with lightheadedness. Slowly I sink to the floor, trying desperately to calm myself. The three of them are arguing, but I can't hear what they're saying. _She's not here. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay. Right?_

A hand on my arm makes me jump. It's Alex. "Cora?" she asks, her brown eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay? Do you want to sit down? Here, let me help you . . ." She leans down and helps hoist me to my feet, guiding me to the sofa.

I plop down in her seat, holding my head in my hands. "Ben?" I say, my breathing labored.

"Yes?" He pushes past Sawyer and Juliet, who are still arguing, and hurries over to kneel before me. "What do you need?"

"Get me a bucket," I order. "I'm going to vomit."

Luckily I'm able to hold in my sick long enough for Ben to give me a bag to barf in. This is too much to handle.

_Okay, say that I actually decide to believe in all this. Say I decide that this is, in fact, real . . . what now? How do I know what to do in this world when my very presence has changed major plot points, and my favorite character isn't even acting like he's supposed to? How do I know what to do to keep myself alive in a show that loves killing off its characters?_

I make my way to the sink and rinse out my mouth. "Ben?" I call. The water from the sink is still running. I cup my hands, fill them with water, and splash it on my face to cool myself down.

"Yes?" he answers, standing beside me at the sink.

"Do you have a list of all the passengers that were on flight Oceanic?"

He nods. "I do."

"Was my name on it?"

He pauses before answering. "No."

"Was any woman with the name Marguerite on it?"

"Ms. Colllins, I don't—"

"Was my mother on the plane, or wasn't she?"

Ben releases a nervous chuckle. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little . . . confused. Marguerite was your pet, not your mother." He nods towards Sawyer and Juliet, who have stopped bickering to listen in on our conversation. "Those are your parents."

I shut off the water and turn to face him. I want to be nothing but angry, but I can't help my body's natural response to surge with adrenaline from being so close to him. God, I'm pathetic. "No, _I _know for a fact that those are _not _my parents! My mother isn't blonde, and my father isn't a . . . okay yes, he's a hick, but he isn't . . . _Sawyer_!"

"I'm gonna do you a favor, Doublemint, and take that as a compliment."

I find myself locked in a staring contest, refusing to be the one to look away first. Ben's eyes dart from one side of my face to the other, studying me, and my face grows hot. I look away first.

"No," he finally answers. "There was no one named Marguerite on the plane."

I can't look back up, so I stare at a scuff in the wood flooring. "Thank you," I whisper, but not necessarily to Ben. I whisper it to God or Jacob or whomever it was that kept her where she's supposed to be.

. . . . .

Apparently I own a house not too far from here, but it hasn't been touched since the 70's. Alex tells me that Ben doesn't allow anyone to go inside, and it won't be in livable condition for a few days.

Sawyer is sent to stay in Juliet's guest bedroom, and I'm to sleep on the couch with the Linus's. Alex insisted.

I think Sawyer has been sufficiently weirded out for the time being. He doesn't pitch a fit when his living courters are arranged without his consent, and he doesn't even say goodbye to me before he leaves.

Dinner consists of a leafy salad, bowls of assorted fruits, and some weird jelly-like substance browned in sauce. I poke at it, half expecting it to leap at me and latch onto my face.

"It's tofu," Ben explains.

I cringe.

"We're vegetarians," Alex says proudly.

"That's nice," I reply, trying to hide my disappointment. No wonder Ben looks thinner than he's supposed to. "Are all of the Others vegetarians?"

"Yep." Alex takes a big bite out of her gelatinous blob.

Ben hasn't touched a bite of his food. He's been too busy watching me from across the table. "Do you not like it?" He sounds worried. "I can make you something else, if you'd prefer."

I glance down at Pumba's food bowl. He's rooting through the exact same meal that lies before me, only _he's_ really enjoying it. He oinks happily. I suppose I should get used to eating vegetarian. Being able to talk to animals has already made the thought of bacon impure. "No, thank you. This is fine." I scoop up a chunk, take a deep breath, and shovel it in.

The texture takes a little getting used to, but the flavor is surprisingly delicious. I relax in my seat and take another bite. Ben smiles at me from across the table and begins eating his own food.

"Where's Marguerite?" Alex asks randomly. She looks from me to Ben, waiting for an answer.

At first I have no idea what she's talking about. Then I remember that crazy woman who cried over the polar bear Sawyer shot. "The polar bear," I ask, "was her name Marguerite? Is she . . . dead?"

"Unfortunately," Ben says sadly.

"Dead?" Alex exclaims, pushing out of her seat. "What happened?"

I'm suddenly very interested in my tofu.

"It was an accident," Ben tells her, while looking at me. "One of the survivors shot her."

Alex follows her father's trail of sight. "Cora?" she asks quietly. "What happened?"

Sweat is beginning to gather on my brow. My hands moisten and my heart speeds up. _Oh, God. Say something. Tell her you didn't do it. Say something. Come on! You're innocent, right? You didn't shoot the bear! Tell her! _I take another bite of tofu.

Alex is so upset she doesn't even stay for dessert. She slams her door and locks herself in her room.

I sit slumped at the table, growing hungrier by the second. "Am I allowed to leave?" I ask.

Ben looks surprised. "Of course, Ms. Collins. You're not a hostage, you're a guest."

I push out of my seat and make a break for the door. Being outside helps, but only a little. The sun has almost completely set, and everyone has retreated into their homes to eat dinner.

"Hello," a voice calls from below. I look down to find a small red fox sitting at my feet. "What are you up to so late at night?"

"Just out for a walk."

"Mind if I tag along?" he asks.

"Sure."

"It's nice to meet someone who understands me," the fox says. "The humans here are nice. Bereft of intelligence, but nice all the same."

I laugh, releasing the tension from dinner. "Why do you say that?"

"I can understand what they are saying, but they cannot understand what I am saying. You call this intelligence?"

"You can understand English?" I ask in amazement.

"When you've lived with humans your whole life, you learn their language one way or another. It shouldn't be that surprising."

We've reached a white gazebo. I take a seat under it and the fox jumps up next to me, studying me with its cunning black eyes. "What is your name?" I ask.

"Todd," he answers with a flick of his bushy tail. "And you are the illustrious Cora, are you not?"

"I suppose I am."

"You suppose?" Todd crosses his paws and rests his head on them. "Dear me, how awful it must be not to know who you are."

"You don't know the half of it," I mumble.

The fox barks a laugh and licks my hand. "I like you. I have the feeling this is the start of a rewarding and quite amusing relationship."

I smile and reach out to pet him, pausing halfway to his ears. "Um, sorry, am I allowed to pet you? I don't want to be disrespectful."

The fox lifts his head from his paws and perks his ears up. "I must admit I don't usually let people poke and prod at me. But I will most definitely accept a good scratch behind the ears from you."

I scratch his ears in silence, thinking about the polar bear named after my mother. She charged out of nowhere, and chose me of all people to chase. But she was never violent when she caught up to me. She just sniffed and poked me with her nose, making grumbling noises. She knew me.

_She was trying to talk to me. What was she saying? _I'm filled with a deep sadness.

"What are you thinking about?" Todd asks.

"Nothing."

Across the lot, in a house with beautiful pink flowers in the front, a man slams the front door of his house and stalks away, heading for the gazebo. The man gets right up to where I'm sitting before he finally notices I'm there. In the fading light I can just make out that the man is Goodwin.

"Whoa," he says, startled. "Sorry about that. I didn't see you. The light is . . . not very bright. . . I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"As a matter of fact, you are," says Todd.

"We're just getting some air," I tell him.

He sighs and shakes his head. "Sorry, you're Cora, right?"

"Yeah."

"The animal lady."

"I guess." The more I remember about Goodwin's character, the more the very sight of him starts to anger me. He had an affair with Juliet and just pretended like his wife didn't exist. I remember my friends would make jokes about Harper—Goodwin's wife—and laugh about the mole on her face, but I always pitied her. Personal bias, I guess.

"This is one of the less intelligent humans," Todd informs me.

I try to stifle my laughter, but I fail miserably.

"What?" Goodwin asks. "Is that fox badmouthing me?"

"Only because you make it incredibly easy," Todd banters.

By now I'm leaning back in my seat, laughing hysterically.

Goodwin looks uncomfortable. "I'll let you two get back to your conversation. It was nice meeting you, Cora."

"Sure," I say, wiping away a tear. I wait until Goodwin is out of earshot before saying, "What makes him less intelligent than most?"

Todd ignores my question. "You don't very much care for him either, don't you?"

"No," I answer honestly. "Was I that obvious?"

"Your body tensed. And you reek of perspiration and—" He sniffs the air. "—Fear."

I don't like talking with Todd anymore.

When I tell him I want to go home, Todd insists in walking me back. I realize with embarrassment that I need him to anyway, since it's now completely dark and I don't know where in Othersville I am.

"This house belongs to Amelia. Very nice woman. She looks after Onyx, whom I believe you've already met. Rude creature, that one. Always complaining that she's underfed." Todd trots alongside me, his furry little paws making absolutely no sound. "Jane is the island nutritionist. She lives over there with her boyfriend, David, even though she flirts with all the scientists down at the lab. Poor David is oblivious. And over there is Ethan's house. He's the island doctor. He recently lost his wife to the dreaded pregnancy crisis. I believe you've already met him as well. He's a little . . . odd, but he's never caused me any grievances."

"Pregnancy crisis?"

"Apparently pregnant women die here. That's why women are shipped back to the mainland within their first trimester. The one's who are not willing to sacrifice themselves and their unborn babe for science, of course."

"That's horrible. How many have died?"

"Countless. Upwards of 5, last I've heard." He makes a sharp turn and we walk past picnic tables. "That's where dear old Juliet comes into play. She lives in that house right over there. She was brought here three years ago to help solve the pregnancy crisis, but so far she's had no such luck."

"Why do you know so much about everyone?"

"I make it my business to know," he answers proudly. I've already made up my mind that I need to spend a day or two with him. He might be able to help clear up some of my questions. "Ah, here we are." Todd has a seat on the first step leading up to Ben's porch. He wraps his tail around himself and looks up at me. "Watch out for yourself, Cora. I enjoy your company. It would be a shame if something were to happen to you."

I stop abruptly, one foot on the first step. "What do you mean?"

"Benjamin is the most intelligent human I've ever met. He's almost fox material, and I don't just hand out praise of that magnitude."

"What are you saying?" From everything I've gathered, I'm not in any danger. In fact—and I hope I'm not just horrible at reading people—Ben seems to like me. I don't know why, but I'm not about to start asking questions.

"I'm just saying you need to keep your eyes open, like me. Stop wandering around without taking notice of what's around you. It's going to get you into trouble."

I can't believe I'm getting a safety lecture from a fox. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"I've heard things," Todd says ominously. "Strange things."

My stomach begins to ache. "Like what?"

"From what I hear, Ben is going to keep you very busy these next few weeks. Busy and sweaty. It should be very informative for you."

"What?"

"Goodnight." With a final swish of his bushy tail, Todd takes off.

_What?_

The front door opens and I turn to find Ben standing in the doorway. "Oh, good," he sighs, "you're back. It's getting late. Are you coming inside?"


	8. Slumber Party

**A special thank you to ****_MyColorlessRainbowVeins_**** and ****_Twinkiefairy_**** for their continued support! Thank you also to all who read and review! You guys are awesome :) Seriously, your comments make my day! Please review!**

"Has she come out at all?" Alex's door is shut. I don't hear her crying or yelling or anything. The whole house is silent.

"No." Ben looks exhausted. "I was just about to make tea. Would you care for some?"

Tea is like a drug around here. "Sure. Thank you."

Pumba appears at my feet, looking drowsy. "I'm full," he says. "I'm ready for sleep now, Cora."

"Soon, sweetheart." I'm not tired. I'm not even close to being tired. Not after my little chat with Todd. Who knew foxes could be perverted? Seriously, who knew?

Ben flits about the kitchen, filling the teapot with water, gathering the tea things, and laying out some cookies on a serving tray. He looks strange when he's in a flustered hurry. There's no reason for him to rush. It's only tea.

My face grows warm when I remember the episode where Ben tricks Juliet into coming over to his house for a date. He cloaked the lie with the excuse of a dinner party. Turned out to be a party of two. He's acting that way now. Like if he doesn't set the tea things out fast enough, I'll get angry. Slap on a frilly apron and an oven mitt and he'd be the perfect housewife.

The visual image makes me giggle incessantly. I have to turn away and pretend to cough.

Pumba has passed out at my feet, his belly full to bursting. He has the cutest little snore.

I hope we can find his mother tomorrow. I can't stand the fact that he's been separated from his family. Maybe I can convince her and the rest of her babies to come live here with all the rest of the animals. They would be much safer, and they would never have to worry about food ever again.

Thinking about wild animals has reminded me of Marguerite. I wonder how many people hate me because she's dead. "I just want to apologize again for what happened to Marguerite," I say, loud enough so Ben can hear, but not loud enough to reach Alex's room. "She seemed well loved."

"She was," he confirms somberly.

"What was she like?"

Ben heaves a sigh.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"No, no." He waves my words away with his hand. "It's just odd to know she's gone. She's been such a prominent fixture here for so long. . ." He shrugs.

I don't ask anymore questions.

Instead of taking a seat across from me on the couch, Ben returns to the living room with a plate of cookies, and he sits down right next to me. His pressed kakis brush up against my thigh and all sorts of warning bells start going off in my head. I turn to face him, and at the same time push myself backwards ever so slightly so he's no longer touching me. It's the only polite way I can think of handling the situation. Then again, why am I even worried about how polite I am?

He holds out the plate of cookies in offering, but I decline. My stomach grows, dissatisfied with my decision. "I'll have some with the tea," I say.

Ben nods and places the tray on the coffee table. His posture is tense and ridged. He doesn't try to scoot closer to me. He's not even looking at me, actually. I wonder if this is what I look like when I'm nervous. I'm struck with a sudden traumatic memory.

_I'm 13 years old. My mother has just driven me to my first co-ed party at the house of one of the most popular girls at school. I begged her to just drop me off and pick me up at 10pm, but she only agreed to let me stay if she met the parents first. After she finally leaves, I head into the living room, where the party is taking place. The lights are down low, giving me goosebumps._

_ I was punctual, and apparently that's not cool because there are only a few people here. I don't see my best friend anywhere, so I take a seat on the sofa and play with my skirt. I don't know why I wore a skirt. I hate skirts. I hate the feeling of vulnerability. I hate that I can't bend over without worrying I'll flash everyone. _

_ I've had a massive stomach ache all day, so I stay away from the snack table even though I want to gorge myself._

_ That's when my world stops._

_ Patrick Higgins—the boy I've had a debilitating crush on since the 1__st__ grade—has arrived._

_ I start aggressively straightening my clothes._

_ He makes his way around the room giving people high fives and munching on chips. To my complete shock, he plops down on the seat next to me. "Hey," he says._

_ "Hi," I manage to squeak out. I can't move. I've been completely paralyzed. I'm sitting as ram-rod straight as my spine will allow._

_ "Carly, right?"_

_ My face is on fire. "Um, actually it's Cora."_

_ He slaps his forehead and says, "Oh, Cora! Right. So, when did you get here?"_

_ I'm in complete bliss that he's even talking to me. "Just now," I say. I want to say more, but my throat has closed up._

_ He scoots closer and places a hand on my leg. "You look really nice tonight. I like this skirt. You should wear it to school."_

_ "Thanks," I breathe. And then my guts explode._

_ I end up doubled over, gasping. The pain is unbearable. I'm going to die. I stand up and stumble in the direction of the front door. I need to call my mother. I need to call 911._

_ Somebody screams. I turn around and the host of the party is pointing at me. "Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew!" she screeches._

_ "Oh my gosh," one of her friends screams. "She got it on your couch!"_

_ I stand there in the middle of the room, in pain, and utterly confused. Then I see the blood._

I snap out of my memory only to notice that Ben has been silently watching me while I relive one of the worst moments of my life.

"Ok," I say, and he's quick to give me his undivided attention. "I'm really awkward, and I don't know how to approach this situation, so I'm just going to say it. You know me, don't you? From a long time ago, right?"

Either he's more terrified than usual, or his poker face is rusty. "Yes," he answers softly.

"I was in the DHARMA Initiative, wasn't I? Sawyer and Juliet and I."

He keeps those intense eyes on me. "Yes."

"And you and I . . . we were friends?"

He nods, seemingly relieved that I've figured out another piece of this bizarre puzzle. When I don't continue, he looks away, blinking back embarrassment. "Forgive me for staring. It's just . . . I haven't seen you in a very long time."

"How long?"

Without missing a beat he answers, "28 years."

_28 years? _I immediately start thinking of what I will feel like 28 years from now. Assuming I live that long, of course. 28 years without my mother, my sisters, and my brother—the only people who love me as much as I love them.

My pounding heartbeat is killing me. I can't handle this much anxiety. I wish Ben would stop staring at me, but I don't know a polite way to tell him to stop. And it's not just that he's staring at me, it's the way his eyes focus so sharply, so intensely that you start to feel indecent.

"Can you fill me in? I'm feeling really lost here." I'd laugh, but it might give Ben a reason to evade my questions.

He smiles sadly. "I wish that I could."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you anything about your past." His brows scrunch in confusion. "Or future. Or however that works out. In fact, it has been strictly forbidden. All of us have been instructed to let you remember your memories on your own."

"Says who?" I frown. "Jacob?" He doesn't answer, but his eyes do. "Yeah, well Jacob can take a long walk off a short pier."

"Ms. Collins—"

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes sheepishly. "Old habits die hard."

_Jacob is such a rat. How am I supposed to "remember" my past when it hasn't happened for me yet? WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE A TIME TRAVELING ISLAND? _

We sit in silence while I grow more uncomfortably warm by the second. Finally, the silence is too much. "Alright," I say. "Considering only one of us remembers the other, can we start over? Hello, sir. My name is Cora." I hold out a hand for him to shake.

His grip is firm and his hands are warm and dry. He offers me a smile. One of the lopsided ones that are more smirk than smile. "Benjamin. It's nice to meet you." The teapot chooses this moment to whistle. Ben shoots up and just like that my lungs relax and let out a gust of nervous air. Ben returns with a tray of tea things and pours me a cup first. When he offers me my cup, he also holds up the tray of cookies.

I know that if I eat one of those cookies, if I let even a single crumb enter my mouth, I'm going to end up devouring the entire plate like a starving pig and embarrass myself. With great reluctance I say, "On second thought, no thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't need it."

"Nonsense. You look good," he says, and then quickly corrects, "healthy, I mean. I mean, you look . . ." He sets the cookies down and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It's been a very long time since I've last seen you. I don't even know where to begin."

"I guess you can start with the basics."

"Which are?"

"What do you like to do for fun?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Ben takes a sip of tea. "Read, mostly."

Not surprising. Most of his house is covered in books. There are floor-to-wall bookshelves in the living room, dinning room, and most likely his study, wherever that is. The English major in me wants so badly to walk over and inspect his collection. I don't remember learning about his favorite genre during the show. "Me too," I answer.

"Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"Uh, sure?"

Ben sits quietly for a while, staring across the room. When he decides to look at me, his voice is so soft I can barely hear him. "Do you honestly not remember me at all?"

"Honestly? I don't know how to answer that." _Oh, good grief. Where do I even begin?_ "This is the first time I'm meeting you, if that's what you mean."

Judging by his disappointment, this isn't what he wanted to hear. But what am I supposed to say? I can't remember what hasn't happened yet.

Watching his sad form sip tea is making me hungry and upset. I need to go to sleep. "Can I take a shower?" I ask. _Good Lord, how long has it been since I took a shower? Three days? Four? Five? Ugh_.

"Yes, of course. The hallway bathroom is broken." Ben rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Ethan was supposed to fix it, but I don't see that happening any time soon. I'm afraid you'll have to use the one in my room for the time being." He stands and starts heading down the hallway. "I can wake Alex up and ask for a pair of pajamas."

"Alex?" I snort a laugh. "Yeah, somehow I don't think her clothes are going to fit me."

He pauses. "You can borrow a pair of mine, if that doesn't bother you."

"Considering I don't sleep naked, I guess that will do." _Wow. Why the hell did I say that?_

I follow him to his room. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out light blue pajama pants and a matching button down pajama shirt. "There are clean towels in the cupboard under the sink. Is there anything else you need?"

Undergarments would be nice. But there is no way I'm wearing a pair of used boxers. "I'm good, thanks."

He leaves down the hallway, out of sight.

As soon as the bedroom door is closed, I lock it. I feel only slightly bad when I begin to snoop. How often does someone get this opportunity?

I find nothing under his bed. Not even a single dustbunny.

His closet is disgustingly organized. Pants hang on one side and shirts on the other. Not a crease in sight. Also, no interesting discoveries in sight, either.

On his walls are a few photos of Alex in various stages of her life. There's a poster of the constellations, and another poster is a detailed food web.

I decide to inspect the dresser in the far side of the room—the one he keeps his pajamas in. On top of the dresser is an assortment of little wooden animals carved out of wood. I quietly open the top drawer. Inside is an array of certificates. The top one is for mastering Krav Maga, the official fighting style of the Israeli Army.

Suddenly I feel both creepy and creeped out.

I turn around to walk to the shower and nearly trip over a huge white puff. "HOLY—"

"Agh! The frightened rabbit yelps. "Don't step on me!"

"You scared me to death," I pant. "What are you doing in here?" I add defensively.

The rabbit talks a mile a minute. "I live here. What are _you_ doing in here? _What was that?" _Its ears shoot straight up and it balances on its hind legs, listening intently. "I don't like this. I want to go back in my cage. Put me back in my cage! Please, I beg you! _What was that? _Did you hear it? _Did you hear it?_"

There's a knock on the bedroom door. "Ms. Collins? I heard yelling. Are you alright?"

The paranoid rabbit has begun clawing at my leg. "Lift me up! I beg you!"

I pick the rabbit up by its scruff and open the door. "He wants in his cage," I say, shoving the rabbit in Ben's arms and closing the door with a swift click.

I waste way too much time in the shower mixing all the soaps and shampoos together. I used to do this all the time when I was a kid. It was fun to pretend like I was making magic potions.

It feels good to be clean. At least now I know I don't smell.

I pull on Ben's pajamas. It feels weird wearing pajamas without undergarments, and the pants are a little snug around my thighs, but I'll live. Ben's pajamas also have a very distinct scent. Like a little bit of soap and cologne that never fully washed out. I can't help but breathe it in. I gather up my dirty shirt and pants and underwear and dump them in the linen basket by the door.

I find Ben siting in the living room, drinking more tea. _What is with this tea obsession?_

He sits up straighter when he sees me. "I've laid out some clean sheets and a pillow for you. You can cover the sofa with one, if you'd like."

"Thank you."

He gathers all of the tea things and takes them back to the kitchen. "You need to get your sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Doing what?" I ask.

He turns and looks me up and down. I instinctively cross my arms over my chest. "Training, of course."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," I say. "Nobody said anything about training."

"No?" His eyebrows rise in mock surprise. "Must have slipped my mind. My apologies."

"What exactly am I training for?"

"My position," Ben explains, eerily content. "You're to replace me as our leader."


	9. A Dead End

**Sorry it took me so long to post! I took a week off work to go on vacation, but I'll be regularly uploading again soon. Hope you enjoy!**

The darkness weighs heavy on my chest.

I'm not trying to be poetic; the darkness is a very real entity that is crushing my lungs by pushing down hard on my chest. I swat at the air, but my hand sifts through nothingness. I don't remember the last time I was this paranoid.

Pumba snores quietly, curled up snug as a bug next to me under the blankets. I envy him. While he sleeps, comforted by my presence, I lie awake on Benjamin Linus's couch, staring up at the ceiling, drowning in a pool of my own sweat.

I see something flicker in the corner of my eye, and my entire body tingles with the anticipation of danger. I try to find the movement, but I can't make anything out in the darkness. A large drop of sweat drips down my forehead and into my eyes. I rub it away and survey the darkness once more.

I don't even know what I'm looking for. I don't even know what it is that's frightening me. Then I see the flicker again. I'm consumed with a strange sense of dread.

It isn't long before I realize I won't be sleeping tonight. There are too many monsters hiding in the shadows.

I throw off the blankets and scramble to switch on the lamp sitting next to the couch. As soon as the light brightens a small area of the living room, I hurry to the lamp seated on Ben's work desk by the front door. By the time I'm satisfied, the entire front half of the house is blazing with light. I plop back down on the sofa and Pumba grunts in annoyance. I apologize and hang my head in shame.

"What's wrong, Cora?"

I jump out of my skin. Alex is standing in the hallway, rubbing her eyes and shielding them from the light. "I'm sorry," I apologize. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," she admits. "I can't sleep either."

She takes a seat next to me, but we both remain silent. I can tell she's still grieving. I can see it in her eyes.

My brain suddenly starts alerting me of all the things that are supposed to happen soon. _Clair was supposed to be captured, Charlie was supposed to be hanged and saved a while later, a woman drowns offshore ._ . . I Put my face in my hands. _She's probably already drowned. Who else am I not going to be able to save? Oh, no, Artz! Has he been blown into a thousand pieces yet? I need to make a list._

"Alex?" I ask. "Would you mind getting me a notebook and pen?"

. . . . .

"You're going to do _what_?" Sawyer asks loudly.

"I already told you. I promised Pumba I would find his mother. I think I might be able to persuade her to come live with us here."

"How many drugs have they given you?" he asks worriedly.

"Sawyer, stop it. I'm not drugged."

He leans in closer and lowers his voice. "Do you really think it's a good idea to go wandering off into the jungle with the same people who _abducted us_?"

He's too close, and angry, and pushy, and it's striking a nerve. "You're not my father," I say bluntly. "I don't need you to protect me."

I seem to have stunned him, and for a moment I feel absolutely horrible. Then he holds out his hands and backs away from me. "You got that right. Go on then." He's gone before I can apologize.

I feel three inches tall. My throat tears like I've swallowed broken glass and my legs won't move no matter how much I urge them to. I want so badly to apologize, but I'm too messed up to function properly.

"Very tactful," Juliet's voice comes from behind me. "You know he's right. It's not safe to go—"

"I'm sorry," I snap. A second ago I couldn't find the words, but _now _I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. "Are you my mother? No? Then leave me the hell alone. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

She gives me one of those horrible, condescending smirks. "Obviously."

I don't know why everything is pissing me off so much. I _know _Sawyer is only looking out for my best interests. I know that. But I guess I've been told what to do for so long that I can't handle it anymore. And it doesn't help that he reminds me so much of stupid, cocky, southern father. It all stews in my stomach until I'm sick.

"You do have a way with words, my dear."

I look down to find Todd licking his front paw. "Oh, it's you."

"It's nice to see you too," he says sarcastically.

"Sorry. I've been snapping at everyone lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's all those lovely hormones," he states. "Aren't humans supposed to be making babies at your age?" Todd sniffs at my pant leg. "And why are you wearing Ben's clothing? There is another female living under the same roof!"

"I don't fit her clothes."

Ben emerges with Alex biting at his heals.

"But why can't I go?" she whines.

"It's not up for discussion, Alex."

"That's not fair!" she complains, stomping her foot like a two year old. "You never let me do anything!"

I can't help but think of my sisters. If any of us had ever spoken to our father like that, we would have been punched in the face.

But Ben only turns away from her, rolling his eyes. "Alex, please."

Down the path, a ways away, I watch Goodwin come out of his house and enter the cafeteria.

Wait.

_Why is Goodwin still here? I thought Ben sent him to scope out the tail section of the plane when it crashed._

"What was that?" Ben asks.

I didn't even know I had spoken aloud. "Nothing. Just . . . talking with Todd." I look down and the fox gives me a knowing look.

"I hear today is your first day of training," Todd says.

"I don't know. We're supposed to be searching for Pumba's mother so I can persuade her to come live here."

Todd's ears perk up. "Ah, then you are in need of my expertise after all."

"You're coming with us?" I'm surprised at this. Todd doesn't exactly strike me as someone who risks his wellbeing for others.

"You must admit my sense of smell is a tad bit better than all three of you combined," he says smugly.

"But why do you want to help?" I stare him down, suspicious. "What's in it for you?"

"You wound me, Cora." His head sinks down while his eyes stay focused up at me. "Can't a fox lend a helping hand without having an ulterior motive?"

I raise an eyebrow. "No, I don't think they can."

"Smart girl," Todd replies, laughing.

Pumba wriggles in my arms until I set him down. Then he scurries over to Todd and rubs his little snout against Todd's paw.

Todd cocks his head, confused. "You must forgive me, little one. I'm not fluent in pig."

"He's thanking you," I say. "We're both thankful you're here, Todd."

"But of course."

"I take it Todd here is joining us?" Ben asks.

"I suppose he is," I say.

As to why, however, I've yet to find out.

. . . . .

I stand looking up at the large invisible fence that separates us from the jungle ahead. The whir of the sonic fence pulsates through my body. I suddenly don't want to leave. I had forgotten about the smoke monster—the reason why the fence was constructed in the first place.

"Ms. Collins," Ben asks loudly, and I snap back to attention. "Have you been listening to me?" When I don't answer, he frowns. "When we pass through the fence, I ask that you obey only one rule."

"Fine," I say. "And that is?"

"Do not leave my sight," he says, enunciating each word. Then he leans down and types in a sequence of numbers into a pin pad, and the fence stops whirring. "Let's go."

The jungle is just how I remember it, only nosier, now that I can understand what all the birds are saying. Gossip. Nothing but gossip from the female birds. Nothing but catcalls from the males. Slowly it starts to get on my nerves.

I take a deep breath and ask, "So, are we not going to talk about it?"

Ben follows after Todd. Somehow his steps are making as few sounds as Todd himself. "Talk about what?"

"About me replacing you." I glance at him to see his reaction, but his calm expression never changes. "Doesn't it upset you?"

"Why would it upset me?" he asks, turning and stopping right in front of me. I almost run into him.

"It upsets _me_," I say, taking a step back. "I don't know what I'm doing. Who makes these decisions, anyways?" I think of the answer on my own and roll my eyes. "You know, I'm really getting sick of him."

"Jacob knows what he's doing."

"Jacob is an idiot."

Ben's lips press together hard to form a thin straight line. I don't even care if he yells at me. But he doesn't yell at me. He just turns away and continues to trail Todd, picking up the pace and not looking back to see if I'm keeping up. "You shouldn't say such things about him."

"Or what?" I question. "He'll jump out from behind a bush and spear me? And can you slow down, please?"

He takes pity on me and falls back, but he still keeps his eyes straight ahead. "He has been our leader for as long as there has been an island. His experience is infallible. So, yes, I'd have to say he knows what he's doing."

"You don't even know what you're talking about, so forgive me for not believing you." _Jacob wasn't even the original island caretaker. Ha. Something that I know and Ben doesn't. _I scowl deeply, seething with anger and resentment. Jacob has a way of screwing everything up, and yet people put so much faith in him. Why? Poor fools. They don't even realize what's going on. They are mere pawns in his sick game of chess. Or whatever that old Egyptian game was that he used to play with his bother.

We continue on, following after Todd in silence.

Ben is the first to break it. "Try to _avoid_ the vines and rocks, Ms. Collins," he complains. "We're trying to strengthen your stealth." The annoyance in his voice makes me grind my teeth.

"I _am_ trying," I snap back.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder. Your footsteps can no doubt be heard halfway across the island."

I puff up, trying to think of a winning insult. "You know, you can go and—"

Todd trots over, obviously annoyed with the both of us. "As amusing as it is to listen in to your lovers quarrel, might I suggest we remain silent for the remainder of this excursion? I hear someone up ahead."

"What is he saying?" Ben asks.

"He wants us to be quiet. He hears something." In fact, now that he mentions it, I hear someone too.

I follow closely behind Ben, trying my best to place my feet where he does so I don't make noise.

The people speaking are John Locke and Boone. From the looks of it, they have found the hatch and are trying to dig it up and open it. I strain to listen in on their conversation. Locke is talking about Michelangelo.

Todd—who had gone on ahead to scope out the area—comes barreling through the trees towards us, slinking over vines and brush like a snake. "Cora, I think it wise to abort this mission."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Todd looks up at where Pumba lounges in my arms. "Can you understand me, little pig?"

"What?" Pumba asks.

"I asked if you can understand me."

"What?"

"Good. Cora, the pig you are looking for is currently being prepared for a meal. It seems your survivor friends are having her for dinner."

"Is she . . . ?"

"Yes. I'm afraid she's dead."

My whole body goes numb. _What do I do now? What am I supposed to tell Pumba?_ I'm going to throw up.

"Whose out there?" Locke calls.

I instinctively drop down and hold Pumba close to my chest. Todd crouches down next to me. I don't know where Ben went.

"Hello?" Locke calls.

Nervous sweat drips down my back. I try to keep my breathing silent, but it's hard to breathe normally in a crouch, especially in this humidity.

Of course, Pumba chooses this moment to oink.

"What is it?" Boone asks nervously, straining to see through the foliage.

"It's only a piglet," Locke answers, uninterested, and sits back down to continue his speech.

I silently sigh with relief.

My relief disappears when I realize both Ben and Todd are nowhere to be found.

. . . . .

"Hello?" I whisper hoarsely into the darkness. "Hello? Ben? Todd? Can you hear me?"

My only reply is a bird who mimics my call.

"Excuse me," I ask the bird, like so many others before it, "have you seen a fox recently?"

"What does the human want?" it asks.

"I just told you what I want," I say hotly. "Have you seen a fox?"

"Is that human _talking_?" another bird joins in. "Look at that! A talking human!"

"Cora, I want to go home," says Pumba.

Nightfall came swiftly. I've been wandering aimlessly for hours. At first I debated whether or not I should just go back to the survivors camp, but then I realized that would mean Pumba would see his dead mother's carcass, and I'd also be drilled with questions about where Sawyer went.

So I decided on the brilliant plan to try and find the sonic fence on my own.

"I'm hungry," Pumba complains. "I haven't eaten all day."

I'm starving beyond all belief, but the only thing keeping my mind off my hunger is fear. For once in my life I'm more afraid than hungry.

_We're going to die out here, alone, with empty bellies._

My heart soars at the sound of a familiar voice.

"There you are." Todd appears from out of the darkness, and I explode with nervous laughter.

"Oh, thank God. Thank God!" I practically scream. "I thought I would never see you again!"

"You make me blush," says Todd. "Well, now that I've found you, I guess I should return you. I'm sure today has been quite the adventure." He flicks his tail against my ankle while he circles me. "Has Ben kept you as busy as I prophesized?"

I frown down at him, remembering what he said yesterday. "You're such a pervert."

"Well, what on earth did you think I meant?" he asks slyly. "You are exactly like I said you would be—busy, sweaty, and informed."

"You could have elaborated."

"A fox has to have fun somehow."

Ben rushes to greet us when we reach the fence. "I went out to look for you, and Todd was looking for me, and we . . . and you—"

"It's okay." I cuddle Pumba closer. "I'm fine. And I've discovered birds are not as intelligent as we give them credit for."

"I'm hungry," Pumba complains.

"Me too," I agree.

I'm peppered with questions from Ben and Alex and Sawyer and some loud lady I've never met before. Pumba hates all the attention almost as much as I do. He squirms around in my lap, sleepy after his dinner, but not comfortable enough to actually fall asleep.

When everyone finally decides to leave me alone, I ready myself for a conversation that needs to be had. "Pumba, I need to talk to you." I sit him in my lap so he's facing me. "Your mother . . . she's . . ." I gulp down saliva that has collected in the back of my throat. I'm already coated in nervous sweat.

"Where is she?" he asks.

"She's dead," I finally choke out.

"Okay."

"Pumba, do you know what that means?"

"No." He presses his snout against my arm. "When can I see her again?"

I set him down on the floor and pace the living room. "I can't do this."

"You must," Ben says sadly. "He can't understand me."

"Are we going to look for her tomorrow?" he asks hopefully.

"No, Pumba, listen to me. Your mother is dead. She's can't be found. She's gone."

"But you said we were going to go find her."

"You're not listening to me—"

"You said you were going to find her!" Pumba emits an earsplitting scream and knocks over a chair. He starts running all over the house, pushing books off the shelf and chewing up the carpet. Nobody stops him. I sit down on the sofa and wait for him to calm down.

When he returns to me, he won't so much as oink. He just plops down at my feet.

I can't help it. I start laughing hysterically.

. . . . .

"I really don't feel like doing anything today."

Ben finishes strapping a backpack to himself and starts packing mine. "It's best to start early. It's cooler at this time of day. You'll thank me later."

This morning I was awoken at four—before the sun had even risen—to ready myself for more training. This time we're staying within the confinement of the sonar fence.

Not that it helps my mood any. I feel drowsy and apathetic. Pumba still hasn't said a word.

I follow Ben over a hill and through some trees to a wide, flat plain of green grass. I zone out enough that I don't even notice Alex is with us until she shakes my arm.

"Here," she says. "Take it."

She's handing me a bamboo stick about five feet long. She's holding one for herself in her other hand.

I accept it with a questioning look. "You're going to teach me how to hit things with a stick? I _know _how to hit things with a stick. I don't need your help with that."

"The exercise is about reflexes, Ms. Collins," Ben tells me, taking a step back. "The point is to try and _not _get hit with a stick."

"Ready? GO!" In the blink of an eye, Alex whacks me hard in the stomach.

"Ooof!" I gasp, abandoning my weapon so I can double over and clutch at my stomach.

"Easy, Alex!" Ben barks angrily from the sidelines.

Alex tosses her stick aside and falls next to me. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"I . . . can't . . . breathe . . ." I cough.

Alex looks ready to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You're supposed to have amazing reflexes! I'm sorry!"

I make my way to my unstable feet. "I'm okay."

The next time she attacks me, I flee.

"You're not supposed to run away," says Alex. "I'll go easy on you, I promise."

I swing the bamboo and catch her stick off to the side. She swivels it in a circle, disarming me. I commence the walk of shame to retrieve my bamboo from the grass a few feet away.

She tries to show me how to attack, but it turns out I'm much better at blocking. The next time I actually catch her off guard, for all of two seconds, before she whacks me in the stomach again. It takes forever for me to catch my breath, and when I do, I have no desire to continue this barbaric ritual. "I'm done."

Ben tries to hand me my bamboo pole. "We've only just started."

I grab the pole and chuck it as far as I can in the opposite direction. "So, let me get this straight. If I'm ever attacked by a crazy person, your plan is to teach me how to dodge the stick they're wielding? Why don't you teach me something useful? Like, I don't know, how to shoot a gun?"

"You don't know how to shoot a gun?" Alex asks with amazement.

I turn sharply on my heal and start walking away from them both, back to the Barracks.

"Where are you going?" Ben calls.

I run into Todd on the way home. "How's the sword fighting going? Lose a limb yet?"

"Sword fighting?" I scoff. "You mean stick fighting?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asks.

"I just got the wind knocked out of me in a bamboo pole fight. The edges weren't even sharp, so I don't know what you're talking about."

Todd stops walking in order to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Sweetling, why on earth would they start you off with an actual sword? The sticks are the safest way to engage in practice combat."

_Why didn't Ben just say that then? I want to learn how to swordfight! Then again, why the hell am I learning how to swordfight when everyone in this show uses guns? What good is a sword going to be?_

I'm debating whether or not to turn around and go back to the clearing when I pick up the faint shouts of an angry man. I follow the sound of his voice and stumble upon an angry crowd gathered around the cafeteria. Goodwin is at the front of the group.

He holds up a bloody hand and calls for justice. In his other hand he's aiming a rife at something.

Ben, looking irritated, has caught up to me. "Ms. Collins, we are running out of time. I must insist that you come back to the—" He catches sight of the mob and asks, "What's going on?" Then all of a sudden he's hurrying away. "Oh, you foolish wolf," he mumbles under his breath.

"What happened?" I ask.

"He broke the sacred rule."

I hurry to keep up with him, panic rising up my throat. "What is the sacred rule?" Now that we're closer I can see the wolf in question. Goodwin has him tied to the railing of the cafeteria porch. His rife is aimed at a pack of angry wolves, shouting obesities and baring their sharp canines.

"He bit someone," Ben answers quietly. "None of the animals are allowed to bite us. It is the agreement we made that allowed them to stay here under our protection."

I watch the wolf hunker down to the ground. I can see the terror in his eyes from here. "What will happen to him?" I ask.

"The punishment is death," Ben answers briskly, stopping to glance in my direction.

One of the wolves lunges forward and Goodwin's rifle goes off, only barely missing the wolf. I hear the tiny whining of a pup, and from his screams I gather that he is the pup of the wolf on trial.

"Stop!" I yell, stepping forward. I'm so panicked I don't know what I'm doing. I might have had something to say, but now that everyone has turned to look at me, I can't remember what it was.

Luckily Ben saves me. "That is enough! Cora, would you come here, please?" I follow him over to where the wolf is tied up. "Would you mind asking him if he was, in fact, the one who bit Goodwin?"

"What happens if he is?"

"Just ask, please."

"Excuse me," I address the wolf, "did you bite this man's hand?"

The wolf looks up at me with fear and remorse and something else . . . anger? I can't quite tell. "Yes," he answers reluctantly.

"He says yes," I admit, just as reluctantly.

The wolves all start howling.

Ben nods, his lips set in a frown. "Tell him we are thankful for his honesty, but we cannot allow this to happen without consequence. Those were our terms."

It takes me a second to realize that Ben is holding out a handgun for me to take. I back away, waving my hands. "I'm not going to do it."

"As future leader it will be your responsibility to carry out—"

"I never wanted to be leader!" I interrupt. "You can't force me to take the position! I won't do it!"

_If I couldn't handle breaking the news to Pumba about the death of a pig I never met, how am I supposed to kill a father in front of his wife and child and friends?_

"Mercy, my lady," the wolf begs. "Please, at least hear my case."

"Tell me," I say eagerly—anything to stall this disgusting display.

"I only broke the oath because he broke his," the wolf informs me. "I caught the man you call Goodwin mistreating my pup."

"Mistreating," I say, slowly filling with fury. "How?"

"My pup was caught chewing one of Goodwin's shoes—and I know he shouldn't have, my lady, and I assure you I'll give him a stern talking to later—but then he shocked my pup with his lighting gun."

"Lighting gun . . ." I look out in the crowd until I find Goodwin, who at least has the decency to look ashamed. "You tasered a puppy? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"It doesn't matter!" Goodwin interjects. "Look at my hand! He broke his oath."

"They are not supposed to harm you, and in return you are not supposed to harm them." The longer I stare at his stupid face, the more I wish I had that bamboo pole. I'd get some training done on his face for sure. "I haven't been here for more than a few days and even I know that."

Goodwin points at the wolf with his bloodied hand. "How do you know that thing isn't lying?"

I yell back, "How do I know you're not?" I turn to Ben and whisper, "What do we do with them?"

"That is up to you."

"Were there any witnesses?" I ask the crowd.

"Me," replies a tiny voice. A small little wolf pup comes limping towards me, guarded closely by a female.

"What happened to your leg?" I ask the pup.

"He's still recovering from the shock," the female wolf answers for him.

"Who are you?" I ask her.

"His mother, my lady," she answers. I can't help but think that the wolves might just be the most polite animal species on this island.

"You can't use them as witnesses!" Goodwin complains. "They're related to the one who bit me!"

"Anyone else?" I ask the crowd. "Anyone at all?" Nobody so much as coughs.

"I demand a trial."

I glare at Goodwin. "How do you expect to have a trial when you've just rejected the only two witnesses in the case?"

"But he confessed!"

"And from what he's told me, it sounds like you deserved to get bit."

"What is your decision?" Ben asks.

"Well . . . I guess we just let everyone go."

"Untie him," Ben orders.

Goodwin disappears into the crowd. The wolves rejoice, but I'm not entirely sure the humans are on my side. Juliet sure doesn't seem like she wants to become BFF's, and neither does Harper.

The big grey wolf turns to me and lowers his head in what looks like a bow. "I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing," I say, appalled and embarrassed.

"I am yours to command, my lady. Till my dying day." The wolf suddenly twists around and barks to the other wolves, "Bow to your Queen!"

I can feel a blush coming on. "No, no, that's really not necessary . . ."

But the entire pack of wolves have already hunkered down and offered me their necks—the official sign that I have absolute authority.

"Alright Mr. . . I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Eddard, my lady."

I can't help but sigh. "Of _course _it is. Okay, Eddard. I want to make something very clear. I don't own you. We can be friends, but you're not . . . what was it you said? Mine to command?"

This seems to trouble him. "But, my lady—"

"Those are my rules," I interrupt.

"I shall not forget your kindness," says Eddard before rejoining his pack.

"That was handled gracefully," Ben praises.

"Thank you." I smile happily as I watch the little pup bound over to his father and gnaw at his legs.

My stomach sinks when I remember about Pumba.

. . . . .

"I want you to leave them alone," I say, taking another sip of tea.

"Of course."

"Ben," I warn. "I'm serious. I want them left alone."

"Done," he says sharply.

Even though I can't be with them, I've figured out how to help the people back at the beach. I've made Ben promise not to send scouts out anymore, and to leave all of the survivors alone. No kidnapped Walt means no crazy Michael means no dead Libby. There. One life saved!

"More tea?" Ben asks.

"No more for me," says Alex. "I'm really starting to get sick of tea, dad."

I take a sip and accept a refill. "You didn't always drink this much tea?"

"Nope. My dad's been on a kick ever since we found out you were here."

"Alex," Ben warns, shooting her a look.

"It helps curbs our appetite," she continues happily. "It's great for weight loss."

As if Alex isn't stick skinny already. "Why would _you_ want to—" My stomach plummets. _No. They don't drink tea for their benefit. They drink it for mine._ I stare Ben down with a look of silent mortification. "Are you trying to make me lose weight?"

He chokes a little on his tea and has to put his cup down on the coffee table so he can wipe his mouth with a napkin. "Of course not," he says, appalled, but he paused too long before answering.

It's as if time stands still. Every ugly memory resurfaces; crawling up from the dark places I shoved them in long ago. _I'm 4, watching my father torture my mother over her post-baby weight after my brother was born. I'm 7 and my drunken father has just thrown away my birthday cake in front of all of my embarrassed friends because he says I don't need to get any fatter than I already am. I'm 14 and I can't buy the same matching skirts that all my friends bought because the store didn't have my size. I'm coming home from school everyday, eating anything and everything my mother puts in front of me because it feels good to eat and I want her to love me because I love her and she loves cooking. I'm 18, newly free from my father's poison, and I'm sitting in my dorm room eating far past the moment my stomach alerts me I'm full—stuffing my face with cookies and pastries and pastas and burgers and fries and chips and candy and whatever else I can get my hands on to help dull the pain of homesickness. I'm 19, struggling to force myself to the school gym. Struggling to rid myself of the shame my father has caused me. Struggling to feel normal like every young woman should._

_I thought leaving the house would free me, but I'm not even in the same dimension as my father, and I'm still not free from him._

I can't breathe.

I stumble to the front door as my training kicks in. It's happening. Complete and total system failure. I need to retreat. Find somewhere small and dark and secluded. Somewhere safe.

"Ms. Collins? Would you let me explain?"

As if I'm possessed, I whirl around and slap him hard across the face. "How dare you," I say slowly, far beyond angry. "Who the hell do you think you are? Why the hell would you do something like that?"

"_Because you told me to_!" he shouts, his voice wavering. "You instructed me to! I'm only following your orders!"

"I never said—" But maybe I did. Maybe I said it years ago, and I just don't know it yet.

"I admit that this was not handled in the way I planned it to be," he says quickly. "That was a mistake on my part. For that you have my humblest apologies."

I force myself to look him in the eye, and I ask, "Did I really instruct you to help me lose weight?"

"You did," he answers with a nod.

"You swear it?"

"I have a list," he blurts out, cutting himself off, but not soon enough.

"What list?" I question. "Ben, look at me." He tries to backpedal, and for some reason, out of absolutely nowhere, for probably the first time in my life, I feel powerful. "Look. At. Me." He's taller than me by a few inches, and yet for some reason I feel like I'm looking down on him. I point a finger at his face and he flinches. "You are going to stop keeping secrets from me. You are going to tell me what happened back when you were a kid. When this was DHARMA property."

"Jacob said I couldn't tell you about—"

"If you say his name _one more time_—"

"Jacob said I couldn't _tell_ you about what happened," he repeats loudly. "So, I won't. I'll show you, instead."


	10. Nostalgia

The sad little house looks haunted. I'm guessing at one point it was once the pristine matching yellow of all the other houses, but nobody has touched up the paint in years. Alex wasn't kidding about no one being allowed inside since the 70's.

The front porch is covered in dust and leaves and old books. I take one step up the stairs and the wood creaks like an angry bullfrog. I turn around and find Ben standing about ten feet away. "Are you coming with me?"

He squints up at the house. "I'd really rather not."

I'm suddenly terrified about what I'm about to see. "I'm not going to find my corpse in here, right? Because I really don't think I can handle that right now."

"No," he answers quietly. "You died . . . elsewhere."

_How reassuring. _I gather my courage and push open the front door.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. It smells like an ancient musty basement. Dust swirls up and around like a snowstorm. I cough it out of my lungs.

I try to turn on the lights, but the switch does nothing. The layout of the house looks identical to Ben's, although it's hard to tell in the darkness.

The sofas in the living room have been slashed by what looks like claws, and the stuffing is poring out like fluffy white blood. My bookshelves have been knocked over, with books strewn all over the floor. I reach down to pick one up. Its entitled _Watership Down._

The kitchen is an absolute mess. All of the cupboards are open and the contents inside have been flung about everywhere. Piles of flour and cereal litter the walkway and crunch under my foot.

The hallway is covered in shards of broken glass from picture frames that were knocked off the wall. The only surviving picture still hanging up is of me and a group of young children posing under a tree. I squint in the darkness and can just barely make out that I'm wearing one of those ridiculously ugly DHARMA uniforms. But even under the uniform I can tell that I have, in fact, lost weight, and I look happy. I squint harder and see a little apple symbol stitched onto the upper front pocket. Apple. Apple? _Teacher. _

I was a teacher.

I'm _going _to be a teacher.

The spare bedroom is covered in bunched blankets, like little makeshift burrows. I'm guess this is where animals slept. In fact, I'm willing to bet my life on it, considering there's a skeleton of a small animal laying on one of the piles. I pull the door shut.

My bedroom is the cleanest in the house. Nothing has been trashed or knocked over. The only troubling thing in the entire room is a message that looks like it was written in blood.

Painted across the wall over my bed in a crusty dark rust color, are the words: DO NOT TRUST YOURSELF

_What does that mean? Did I write that? And if I didn't, who did? Does it mean I shouldn't trust myself now, or that I shouldn't trust my future self?_

I make my way around the bedroom, looking through the closet, under the bed, and in each and ever drawer. In the closet I find an array of interesting clothing—long black evening gowns, short colorful jumpers, and an odd pair of printed pants. Under the bed I find a shoebox filled with odd little trinkets. There's a small wooden figurine of a polar bear, like the one Jacob was carving, a bunny made of felt, a stick of charcoal, and a red tube of what looks like dried up face paint. In the drawer I find random photographs of the island and snippets of paper with half-thoughts on them like: EVERYTHING CHANGES and GIVE BOSCO HIS TREATS

In the bottom drawer, hidden under a piece of paper that reads: ALL HAIL THE PRINCESS is a fluffy white cape and a painted red mask. A spark of memory hits me. I've seen this before. I know I have.

Oh, good grief.

Knowing me, this is probably what I think it is.

"All hail the princess," I mumble aloud. "Princess Mononoke."

I'm such a nerd, it's almost painful to think about. I must have gone insane. I can see it now . . .

I pull out the furry cloak but immediately drop it when it unfurls. The cloak is made of animal skin. _Omg. I went insane, skinned something, and wore its body as a cape._

This is seriously creepy, and I want to go home.

As I'm leaving my room, something catches my eye. Carved into the wall over the doorway, in perfectly elegant script, are the elvish words: _Befriend the Birds_

Elvish. Of course it's in elvish. A little known fact that I've kept from my friends is that I had nothing better to do growing up than learn elvish. My summers were full of loneliness and Tolkien. What can I say?

But if I took the time to carve this over my door, it must mean this is something I wanted myself to see in the here and now. Something important enough to look at every night when I go to sleep and every morning when I wake up.

Looks like I have a lot of befriending to do.

Ben is sitting on the bottom of the porch steps when I stumble out of the house. For a second I think he's talking to himself, but then I notice Todd sitting at attention in front of him. The two both turn their attention to me and fall silent.

"No, please," I say, motioning towards them, "don't let me interrupt. Continue."

"Did you find anything of interest?" Ben asks.

_Did I find anything of interest? He's kidding, right? _"I'm going to sleep. It's been a long day and I've reached my max capacity for weirdness today." I stomp down the stairs and head back towards Ben's house on autopilot. I'm so tired my eyes can barely stay open. Todd is at my side. "What were you two talking about just now?" I ask him.

"We were just—" Ben tries to answer.

"I didn't ask you," I interrupt.

Todd sounds amused. "My, my. Someone is in a foul mood today."

"Todd, I just looked into my future and saw blood, dead animals, and mental instability, so forgive me if I seem testy. Now, are you going to answer my question, or should I bid you goodnight?"

"Gracious me, my sweet little Cora has turned sour."

"What is he saying?" Ben asks.

"Humans," Todd sighs. "Always so paranoid. Cora, you can tell your sweetling that I'm not going to renege on my duties."

I just want to sleep. I'm so tired and cranky that I can't even enjoy Todd's playful banter. "You two are best friends for life, or something? I'm so sick of secrets I could vomit. Would somebody please just be honest for once? I might actually be of use if you'd tell me what's going on."

"I know I joke a lot about his intentions, but on a serious note I can say with absolute certainty that you can trust him. He might possibly be the only human on this island you can truly trust. And, of course, there's me." Todd trots in front of me and spins around, stopping abruptly. "Remember, Cora, we're on your side. Of that much, at least, I do not jest." And with that he scampers off into the night.

I start to feel bad halfway home. "Sorry I snapped at you," I apologize.

"That's alright. I suppose I deserve it. I'm not doing a very good job of carrying out your orders."

I can't help but smile. "If you were trying to get me to lose weight, why were you offering me cookies?"

"I didn't want to seem suspicious."

"Can you promise me something?" I ask seriously. "I obviously made you swear an oath of silence or something, so I'm going to go ahead and trust my future self. I won't bug you anymore about my future, but only if you promise me one thing."

"Alright."

"Do not lie to me," I say. "You can lie and manipulate and do whatever it is you do to everyone on this stupid island, but you will not lie to me. Understand?"

He stares at me with an inquisitive look in his eyes, then he gives the slightest of nods.

I don't even know if I believe him, but I guess it was worth a shot.

. . . . .

Pumba sleeps soundly at my side. He ate his dinner without hassle, but he still hasn't spoken a word. He sleeps peacefully, while I obsess over the shadows.

The feeling of dread has returned. Darkness seeps into the house and consumes everything in its wake. My skin absorbs it; my lungs breathe it in. It is everywhere and I cannot escape it. It's crushing me, and I can't handle it. I can't handle it_. I can't handle it!_ I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and imagine myself back home, in my own room.

I open my eyes and the figure standing over me slowly comes into focus.

It's my father.

"There you are," he says, grinning.


	11. Picnics and Other Disasters

**In response to Caterine: Thank you for your reviews! I truly appreciate them. Also, sorry about your confusion, but please try and keep in mind that I'm writing this strictly for fun, and it is A/U (Alternate Universe) so MANY things that happened in the show are not going to happen in this story. Any and all abnormal character personalities, plot holes, or general confusion can be attributed to island logic (haha). Hey, if it's a good enough excuse for the directors of the show, it's good enough for me :)**

I don't stop screaming for anything. Not when all the lights go on, or when I see Alex's worried face, or when someone starts shaking me.

"_Get away from me!" _I scream, lashing out and striking someone with the palm of my hand.

Pumba has fled the room in fear. I can just barely see him poking his head out from the hallway. I sit on the floor and try to steady my breathing.

_There's nothing there._

And there isn't. As soon as someone turned on the lights, my father disappeared like a puff of smoke.

Wait.

I rub at my temples. "That no-named son of a—!"

"Ms. Collins, what are you talking about?"

I want to explain that everyone can go back to sleep because I realize my hauntings have been nothing more than the demented impersonations of the smoke monster. Now I truly understand why Richard was so angry and suspicions of me when I first arrived here. It's the worst feeling in the world to wrongfully think you're seeing someone who by all rights shouldn't be there.

But when I try and explain, whatever dam I had so carefully constructed to save myself from tears has broken at last. I haven't felt this many emotions since . . . I have no idea when! I don't like it.

I cover my face with my hands, but it doesn't really help. I struggle to fight off the bizarre and overpowering mixture of uncontrollable laughter and equally uncontrollable tears.

Pumba—bless him—hurries over to comfort me. His little hooves click on the wood floor as he scurries over and pushes his way into my lap. I hold him close.

Alex hands me a tissue.

"Thank you." My nose is clogged, and it takes three tissues before I can breathe normally again. "You guys can go back to sleep," I say, embarrassed. "I'm sorry I woke you. Bad dream."

"You sure?" Alex yawns.

"Go back to sleep, Alex," Ben tells her. Then he offers to make tea.

"Please, no more tea," I beg.

Pumba rubs his snout against my arm to console me, which only makes me sadder. "Is the fence on?" I ask.

Ben furrows his brow in confusion. "Of course."

"Can the . . . the monster come through the fence?"

He pauses before answering. "Why are you asking this?"

"Nevermind." I shake my head. Maybe I really am just going insane. "Nevermind."

. . . . .

"Please, have a seat."

Of all the things I could be wasting my time doing, this is definitely last on my list. I'm sleep deprived, slightly paranoid, and I wasn't allowed to bring Pumba with me to this little _session_.

"My name is Harper, as I'm sure you know by now." She takes a seat on an uncomfortable looking wooden chair and motions for me to sit. "My husband is the man who was bit by that wolf."

"Yeah," I answer and plop down on the sofa across from her. Thankfully it's comfortable. Usually the seating in medical facilities are either rock hard or so plush you get swallowed alive by the fluff. "Sorry about that."

"This session will go smoothest if you are honest with me. Just relax, and don't overthink anything. Just tell me whatever comes to mind. Now, I understand you've been suffering from night terrors."

I'm trying so very hard not to stare at her mole. "No."

"Then what would you call the incident from last night?"

_It wasn't a night terror because I wasn't asleep. _"I don't want to talk about that."

"What would you like to talk about?" she asks, smiling. Only, it's not really a smile. I can spot a fake smile faster than a jackrabbit on a date. My mother was a master.

My throat closes up at the memory of my mother. I feel nothing but pity for Harper, even though I don't even know her. It's irrational, but I can't control it. "I've been . . . feeling different lately."

She clicks her pen and begins writing. "Tell me what you're experiencing."

I lean back into the plush sofa. "I don't know. I just feel . . . overwhelmed, I guess. Like I can't deal with any amount of emotion, no matter how small. It's like my body is in overdrive or something. I'm in a constant battle with myself to not snap at people and say rude things. That's never happened before. Sure, I used to say rude comments all the time in my head, but I can't keep thoughts in my head anymore. They just blurt out before I can stop them. And then when I'm not consumed with hatred, I'm fighting not to burst into tears."

"Don't worry," Harper assures me, scribbling something down. "These things are common in people recovering from depression."

"I'm not depressed."

"I said _recovering_ from depression."

"I've never had depression."

Harper flips through the papers on her clipboard. "I've heard that you've been having mood swings, and your overall disposition has been . . . shall I say . . . hauteur."

"What?" I sit up straighter and frown. "Who said I'm arrogant? I'm not arrogant! Was it Todd?" Then I feel stupid because I'm the only one who can understand him, so how would it have been Todd?

She raises an eyebrow. "Would you like to talk about Todd?"

"Not particularly."

"How about any of the other animals?" she questions. "I'm sure it's been a difficult adjustment for you."

I snort.

"I can't help but notice you make animal friends much quicker than human ones. Why do you think that is?"

For some reason all I can think about is poor dead Nemo. "Humans have a way of disappointing you."

"Has someone disappointed you recently?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Would you like to talk about . . ." she pauses to peek at me from over the clipboard, "food?"

"What?" We've reached the danger zone. "No."

"Can you tell me what makes you think you weren't suffering from depression?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

"It's alright, Cora." She places the clipboard down across her lap. "It will help you to talk about what's going on."

My siblings all have different ways of coping with the pain. My mother pretends to be happy. I eat until I can't physically fit anymore food in my stomach. My younger twin sisters, Capri and Cassandra, don't eat at all. My little brother, Casper, throws himself in his music. He's hardly at home anymore because his friends started a rock band in their garage. His way of dealing with our home life is to never be at home. Smart kid.

"What makes you think that I was depressed?" I retort.

"Oftentimes overeating becomes a problem. You've been struggling with this for some time, haven't you?"

"I . . . yes," I admit reluctantly.

"Can you tell me what makes you want to eat? What triggers it? Are you sad or angry or bored?"

I shrug. "I just like eating. There isn't really a reason."

"There's always a reason." When I refuse to continue, she flips to a new piece of paper. "Let's talk about Sawyer."

"What about Sawyer?"

"How would you describe your relationship?"

"Um . . . Nonexistent, at the moment. I angered him."

Her pen scribbles away. "He seems to like you. Any thoughts as to why?"

"Not a clue in the world," I answer. "But if you know something, please, by all means tell me. I'd love to hear it."

"You seem self deprecating," Harper says, sounding curious. "How would you describe yourself?"

"At the moment? Annoyed. Not at you," I add quickly. "Just at this whole situation." I'm still not entirely sure I believe this is really happening. I still haven't completely ruled out psych ward.

"Situation?"

I wave my hands. "Being stuck on an island with a bunch of people I've never met who seem to know more about me than I know about them . . . it's annoying. And it really doesn't help when people refuse to answer my questions when it's clear they know the answer."

"Does this frustrate you?"

"You're kidding, right?" I yell. "Of course it frustrates me! How could it not frustrate me? I feel like a stupid helpless puppy wandering behind people who expect me to know what I'm doing when I have no idea what's going on."

"So, you're afraid of pressure? Of being trapped in a leadership position?"

"I'm afraid of people thinking I'm stupid," I answer honestly, and I instantly wish I hadn't.

"Nobody thinks you're stupid, Cora." I'd believe her if she didn't sound so bored. "Do you not desire to become our leader?"

The look she's giving me makes me stop myself before I can answer. Maybe this is some kind of test. Maybe if I answer wrong, they will throw me out beyond the fence and leave me to starve. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. "Ben seems to think I can do it."

She flips to a new piece of paper. "What do you think about Ben?"

_Careful, Cora. You're a fool if you think Harper is going to keep her doctor/patient confidentiality. _"He's nice." Guilt washes over me. "Nicer than I've been. He's one of the people I've been snapping at lately. Actually he's pretty much the only person I've been short with lately. Well, him and Juliet."

Harper's pen freezes midsentence. I watch her eyelids flutter before she looks up. "What has Juliet done to cause you grief?"

"Exist, mostly." My eyes widen in shock of my own rudeness. "Wow. I'm sorry. Can you please not mention I said that?"

A smile breaks out on her lips. A real smile.

"I'm on your side, you know," I tell her.

This throws her off. "Pardon?"

"I know about . . . you know, the affair."

Harper sits motionless, not even blinking. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You asked." I cross my arms and lean back into the sofa. "That's why I don't like her, if we're being honest. You said this would go smoothly if I'm honest, right?"

She begins flipping through papers at random, flustered. "Alright, so how about we talk about—"

"No, I think I'd rather talk about this."

"This session is for you, Cora," she says bluntly. "It has nothing to do with me."

"But that's just it. That's what I want to talk about." I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. "We can bond over our injustices!"

"And what injustices would that be?"

"We've both been disappointed by people we love. People we don't want to love, but love just the same. Take you, for example. I'm sure you think this affair thing is your own fault, right? I mean, if Goodwin was willing to marry you in the first place, obviously that means you were the one who screwed it up beyond repair if he's the one leaving, right?" _What in the world is going on? Where is this word vomit coming from? _"He was the one who left your relationship, correct?"

"That's enough," she whispers sharply.

"My whole life I've blamed myself for things that I had no power over. _If only I would have done this or that then my father would have loved me more_. But that's not true. It took me a very long time to realize that _I_ wasn't the problem." She's giving me a death glare, but I just smile back. "If you can stop blaming yourself for the actions of your husband, maybe it will help me to stop blaming myself for the actions of my father."

She stares at her pad of paper for what seems like eternity. "Would you like to talk about your father?"

It's not that we were forbidden from speaking about our life to others, per say. It's just I was always too embarrassed and ashamed to tell my friends what I was going through. They all had wonderful parents who loved them and spoiled them rotten. They would never understand what it was like to be me. I was in dire need of friends, and there was no way I was going to scare off any potentials with horror stories of my childhood. So I learned to keep it bottled up inside. I learned the art of repressing memories and turning emotionally numb as a defense mechanism.

Now that I have the opportunity to spill my guts to someone who is paying close enough attention to take notes on everything I say, I can't stop myself. A weight seems to lift off my shoulders as I recount things I had forgotten even happened to me.

I leave the session feeling free and more awake than I have in years.

. . . . .

"Do you attend sessions?" I ask happily as I follow behind Ben. "You should. It works wonders."

"We all do, from time to time." Ben gives me an amused smile. "I'm glad she could help you."

We're heading back to the clearing again to train. No doubt so I can earn more bruises. "Who knew talking could make you feel better? Its just words." I throw my head back and feel the warm sun on my skin.

"Do you think I can poop on her face?" somebody asks.

My eyes shoot open. "Whoever asked that, please don't! I really wouldn't appreciate it!"

The bird in question flies closer. "Ooo! A talking human! Hey! Hey Phil, come look at this!"

"Yes," I say flatly. "We've gone over this. I can understand you."

A tiny little multicolored bird comes gliding down from out of the trees. "Incoming!" he yells. I gently catch him before he crashes into me.

"Phil, don't _touch _it!" a female bird shrieks. "You'll get sick!"

"I flew!" the little bird chirps proudly from between my fingers. "Did you see me, mom?"

"Get away from my baby!" Little needle claws slash at my arms as she flies sporadically around me.

"Hey, stop it!" I yell. "Here's your kid! Sorry! Stop it, that hurts!" I give the little baby a toss and he flaps his way to the ground.

"Fly, Phil!" she chirps. "Fly!"

And he's honestly giving it everything he's got. Poor thing. But try as he may, he can't seem to get airborne. He just flops about like a sad little Magicarp.

I walk over to help him and his mother swoops down and pecks at my head. My hand reaches up instinctively to swat her away. "I'm trying to help him, you crazy bird!" I'm forced to make a hasty escape. "A little gratitude would be nice."

"What was that about?" Ben asks.

I rub at my head. "Do you know why I would write a note to myself saying 'Befriend the Birds'? Because they all seem pretty dense to me. Was I good friends with them way back when?"

"You were friends with one in particular, but other than him, no. And watch where you step, Ms. Collins. Try to tread lightly."

"One in particular? Who?"

"I believe you called him Hurley Bird. But I haven't seen him since I was a child."

We've made it to the clearing at last. I rip off my backpack and have a seat in the cool grass.

Ben places his worn leather satchel next to me and begins sorting through the contents of his own backpack. A curious white rabbit peeks its head out from under the satchel flap. "Oh, it's you again," he says with a twitch of his pink nose. "Hello. When do we eat?"

"Eat?"

One of the items Ben has removed from his backpack is a picnic blanket, which he spreads out over the ground, followed by an assortment of foods.

"Wait," I ask, "I thought we were training with those bamboo poles?"

"I figured we could take a day off from that," he answers nonchalantly. "Let you recover from your injuries."

"Yay, yay, yay!" the rabbit cries happily, springing out of the satchel. He hops over to a little pile of vegetables Ben set out for him and starts shoveling them into his mouth.

"Carrot?" Ben holds one out to me in offering.

I look around and slowly begin to panic. _Is this a date?_ "You know, if you wanted to invite me to a picnic, you could have just asked."

"Oh, we're still training." He pulls out a bow and a sheath of arrows.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Ben looks up. "What?"

I motion towards the weapon. "What is that supposed to do?"

"It does the job when the time arises."

"Yeah, so does a gun," I argue. "Only faster."

"You once told me you use a bow because guns scare the animals and alert others of where you're hiding." He sets the bow aside and hands me a bowl. There are containers of strawberries, mango slices, and papayas, but the majority of containers are filled with vegetables. "Have whatever you'd like. I made sure to bring a variety."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me lose weight. I don't think a buffet is the best way to do that."

"You can eat as much as you want," he replies, taking a bite of carrot. "You just have to be careful what it is you're eating. Nothing here is harmful snacking."

I begin crunching my way through some cucumber slices. Tastes like water. Oh joy. "When did you become vegetarian?"

He squints, thinking. "I believe I was ten. It was a little while after we first met."

"Hold that thought. Excuse me! Sir?" A bird pecking the ground nearby hops around to look at me. "Hello!" I wave. "How is your day going?" He flies away without response. "There's no reason to be so rude!" I huff.

Ben munches on a carrot and regards me with a curious expression. "Why the sudden interest in birds?"

"I found a message in my old house. It told me to befriend them," I scoff. "As to why, I have no idea. They seem pretty useless."

"I'm afraid I'm of no real help in that regard. That's a message you never told me about." He leans back on the blanket, thinking. "I wish I knew where Hurley Bird was. He could probably answer your questions. If he's even alive."

The rabbit stops eating and jerks his head. "You two aren't talking about that big ugly thing that tried to eat me a week ago, are you?" His ears stick straight up. "He's not here, is he? _Is he?_" Quick as a wink, he's tumbled back into the satchel, abandoning the rest of his uneaten food.

I wonder what the other survivors are doing right now. What changes have occurred because of my meddling?

I actually kind of miss them, even though I wasn't on the beach for very long. I especially miss Claire. She was so effortlessly kind to me that it put me at ease for the first time in forever. There are so many people I haven't got to meet yet. I wonder if I ever will at this point.

Jack was living here, in Othersville, at one point during the show. I remember that much. They kept him specifically for some reason. What was it again? They made a deal with Michael in exchange for Walt, and then they kept Sawyer and Kate as leverage because— "_OH MY GOD, YOUR SPINE!_" I scream, horrified.

"What?" Ben twists around. "Is there something on me?"

"Your spine!" I flail my arms, as if this can get the right words out. "Your . . . your cancer, or tumor . . . or is that the same thing? _Your spine_!"

He's paused with a carrot halfway to his lips, which are slightly parted. There's a moment of silence, and then he gives a brief laugh. "What are you talking about?"

He should know about it by now. He had it x-rayed before the plane crash! I remember! "You have a tumor on your spine."

"No. That's quite impossible."

"How is that impossible?"

"You cannot get cancer here," he says with confidence.

_Think, Cora. Think. Okay, it wasn't cancer, exactly. It was a tumor. A tumor caused by . . . by Sayid's bullet! That's right!_

_But I can't ask about that, because he doesn't remember being shot. Richard said so when Sawyer brought him to the others. He said his memory of the incident would be wiped clean._

_Ugh. I'm so confused._

"So you . . . _don't _have cancer?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no."

"I . . . Uh . . . I would double check that if I were you."

Ben gives me a kind smile and shakes his head. "Like I said, that is quite impossible. What makes you think—"

"Could you at least make sure?" I ask. "Please?"

He regards me with curious blue eyes. "Alright. I'll schedule an x-ray first thing when we return home."

After we've eaten a good portion of all the food I still feel hungry, but I keep it to myself. Ben tacks a target to a nearby tree and shows me the proper way to hold the bow. My arrow keeps sliding off and dropping to the ground, so he reaches around to show me how to hold it up to aim.

His arms are completely around me. A memory triggers. _The_ memory. The one that nobody in our family talks about because it could land both my parents in jail. The biggest reason why I'm such a psychotic mess.

My heart is pounding hard and sporadic. My blood screams in my ears. I shrug him off. "Don't touch me," I blurt out defensively, dropping everything in my panic.

I've surprised him. He takes a hasty step back with his hands out in front of him. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to show you."

The initial panic is wearing off. _Pack it up, lock it tight. Forget. Forget. _I clear my mind, retrieve the bow and arrow, and hold it out for him. "Okay then. Show me."

Ben carefully takes the weapon purposely without actually making contact with my hand. "Just pull it back, like this," he explains. "Make sure that when you're about to release, you must first—" he swings around, abruptly, the bowstring still pulled back tight against his chin.

I turn around to see what has caught his attention and barely contain an audible gasp of surprise.

Standing in the treeline, frowning deeply, is Charlie Pace. I'd be ecstatically excited to see him if he wasn't pointing a gun at me.

"Charlie?" I exclaim. "What are you . . . how did you . . . please don't point that at me."

"Don't play innocent. You know why we're here," he growls. I can faintly see now that Jack, Kate, John Locke, and Sayid are standing behind him, all armed as well. "Now, where are your people keeping Claire?"


	12. Conspiracy Theory

**Update: No, I haven't abandoned the story! School started up again, and now I'm a full time student with a job on top of that. Updates will now be whenever I have the time. It's safe to say approximately every other week. It's a ton of fun to write, but I'm no longer on summer break.**

** In response to Hannah: Because island logic. Jk, I have a friend who spells her name Clair without an E at the end (no joke), so I keep accidently switching the spelling (I'll try my best to start spelling it with an E, but no guarantees. Sorry.) Thank you for your review!**

"Your name wasn't on the bloody manifest!" Charlie yells.

A nervous laugh escapes me. "There's a _really_ interesting explanation for that."

"And why would we listen to anything you have to say?" Sayid interjects.

"She trusted you!" Charlie yells. He's so deliriously angry that he can't even hold the gun steady.

"Charlie," I say, trying to reason. "I'm friends with Claire. The last thing I want is for something bad to happen to her."

Slowly, step by careful step, Ben moves to stand in front of me.

"Just drop your weapon," Kate says, sounding annoyed. "You're outnumbered."

I wonder what they would do if we were to surrender peacefully. The outcome may not be good, but I bet it would be a lot better than if Ben were to release an arrow. "Ben," I hiss, "I think you should listen to them."

Ignoring me, Ben shifts his aim away from Charlie and towards Kate. "Shoot me," he proclaims softly, "and I release my arrow into your friend's heart."

Here we stand, in the middle of a field, waiting to see who shoots first. Not exactly how I imagined I would die.

"We don't have Claire," I announce, looking to Ben for confirmation. "We don't have her . . . right?" I wait for an answer. "Ben?"

"It was a necessary precaution," he finally answers.

I bring my palm up to smack my forehead. "I don't believe this. One thing. I asked for _one thing_."

"She would have died otherwise," Ben argues. "Do you hear that, Charlie? I saved your woman and her unborn child."

I'm trying to remember why Claire was so important to the Others. _Ethan kidnapped her because . . . wasn't he injecting her with something? Keeping her hostage in a hospital and shooting her up with some pregnancy serum?_ _What was the serum for? Think . . . think . . . _

"Put the gun down, Charlie." This new voice confuses me. It belongs to a woman I don't recognize. I can't see her. Soon enough Jack, Kate, John Locke, Sayid, and Charlie have surrendered their weapons.

Uh. What?

A dark haired woman steps out from the trees carrying all of the surrendered weapons, corralling the group of survivors in front of her. I'm confused as to why five armed individuals would surrender their weapons to one woman with a gun.

Then I see the wolves.

Todd is suddenly at my feet. "Cora," he says, "would you kindly tell your beloved that he is officially in my debt?"

I don't know why I even bother to question things anymore. "Why am I not surprised you're in on this?"

"I told you." Todd takes a seat in front of me, curiously eyeing the survivors. "I make it my business to know everything that happens around here. You're welcome, by the way. I'm sure a two on five fight would have been a marvelous showdown. Especially since only one of you were armed—and with a bow and arrow, no less. How quaint."

Ben has finally relaxed his hold on the bow, and he nods to the woman. "Jane."

"Ben," she replies, nodding back.

Jane. The name sounds familiar. I think Todd mentioned her once, but I don't remember what he said. She's slender, all muscle, with long back hair tired back in a loose ponytail. The most striking feature on her face are her dark eyebrows set in two bold straight lines that make her look like she's stuck in a perpetual frown.

The wolves have surrounded the survivors. One of them emits a low warning growl and nips at Sayid.

Eddard breaks away from the pack and approaches me. "The fox told us of your plight," he says. "We came as soon as we could. And we brought the human, Jane, that looks after us."

"Thank you," I answer. "I appreciate your help." I turn to ask Ben what he plans on doing with the survivors, but he's already engaged in conversation with Jane.

"Handcuff them, and put them in the rec room," Ben orders.

"What?" I step over and interrupt. "No, you don't have to do that." Both Jane and Ben are looking at me like I'm insane.

I guess, looking at it from their perspective, it does sound insane. They just had guns pointed at us, and even I'm not entirely sure they wouldn't have fired. But the bias in me, the one that knows these characters backwards and forwards, is trying to convince Ben and Jane that these survivors are good people, deep down. They're just really frightened at the moment—and rightfully so!

I frown at Ben, who strangely enough doesn't look ashamed or remorseful. He looks like he's trying not to frown back. "You promised me you would leave them alone. You didn't. And now—" I wave towards the survivors with one arm, "—here they are, confused and scared and searching for their friend. That's not their fault. You didn't listen to me!"

"So you're saying I should have let Claire die?" Ben asks flatly.

"I . . . I'm saying you should let me explain things to them before you go locking them away."

"That's not your decision to make."

"But you said I was the leader!"

"No, you're not," he snaps sharply enough for me to take a step back. "Not yet. _I_ am responsible for the safety of this community until you are fit to take my position. I'm sorry, but for the time being they are going to be closely monitored."

"But—"

"Cora," he says, less aggressively than before, "those people just had guns aimed at us. At you. Whatever friendship you started on the beach . . . well, it looks like you're starting over from square one."

I watch as Jane and the wolves guide the survivors back towards the Barracks. I catch a glimpse of the hateful expressions directed towards me as they pass by.

Looks like Ben's right. It's back to square one.

. . . . .

Claire is being kept in the Barrack's hospital wing a few houses away from Ben's. This whole time she was right under my nose and nobody had the decency to tell me.

She's hooked up to a monitor that gives out rhythmic heartbeats. She's lying down on a white hospital bed with her feet propped up and an overstuffed pillow wedged behind her neck. Ethan wanders around the hospital, writing labels on medicine bottles and jotting down notes on a clipboard.

Claire's face lights up when she sees me. "Cora? They took you too? What's going on?"

I explain why she was taken. Well, I explain it to the best of my abilities. It really angers me that _nobody_ told her what was going on. They just gave her shots and told her that they were in "her best interest". They didn't even mention that I was here!

She assures me that she has not been mistreated, which makes me feel a little bit better, but not much.

"Charlie's here," I tell her.

She perks up at this news, and I fangirl inside. "He is?"

"Would you like to see him?"

"Ah," Ethan interjects, "I'm afraid that's not going to happen anytime soon."

I spin around to frown at him. "Why not?"

"Claire cannot leave this facility until the baby is born. Too many health risks." He shrugs. "Sorry."

Claire squeezes my hand in agitation.

"I'll bring him here to visit," I offer.

"Good luck with that," Ethan comments under his breath.

I leave to find out where the survivors are being kept and run into Sawyer.

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Doolittle," he announces loudly. "Where are you running off to in such a hurry?"

I stop dead in my tracks. Apparently whatever fight we were having is over. "You didn't call me Doublemint! I thought you said no exchanges or refunds?"

He gives me one of his lazy, confidant smiles and saunters closer. "They're _my _nicknames and I can do what I want with them. Weren't you bothering me about giving you another nickname, anyway? You women are so fickle."

"Never mind that," I say, quickly remembering what I set out to accomplish. "Do you know where they are keeping the survivors? I think Ben said the rec room . . . do you know where that is?"

Sawyer's perky smile wipes clean away. "Survivors? They took more people from the beach?"

"Where have you been?" I ask. "I thought everyone knew!"

"Here comes Blondie," he says, nodding towards Juliet. "Let's ask her. Hey, Blondie! Just the girl we're looking for!"

"What is it now, Sawyer?" she grumbles. He must really have annoyed her recently. She acts like he's the biggest nuisance since the cockroach incident of 1997.

Don't ask.

"I want to talk to Charlie."

"Who?"

"One of the people who were just captured."

"Alright," she answers, offering nothing more.

"So where is he?" I ask.

"How should I know? You're the one who is going to be the new leader. Seems a little counterproductive to leave you out of the loop, don't you think?"

"Aw, come on Blondie," Sawyer complains. "Can't you help the poor girl out? Just this once?"

"Would you stop calling me Blondie?" she says, and the two begin bickering.

I have no idea how harmless the argument actually is, because while Sawyer seems to be joking, I think Juliet is serious. I back away before I get pulled into whatever it is they're arguing about. Sounds like domestic drama. I had forgotten that Sawyer still doesn't have his own house. As I walk away I discover he needs to stop eating all the bread and start putting down the toilet seat.

"Todd?" I call. "Where are you?"

"I live to serve," I hear him reply. "What does my dearest friend need now?"

"You say you know everything that goes on around here. I need to find my friends. Where are they being kept?"

"Ah, humans are such strange creatures. A man points a gun at you, and you profess friendship."

"Please?" I beg.

"Do you see the building over there? The big one next to the tree?" He flicks his bushy tail in the direction.

"Yes."

"Rec room. You're welcome."

"Thanks, Todd. I owe you one."

"You do indeed."

There's a man standing by the entrance. He eyes me warily as I approach. "Ben said you'd show up. Sorry, I can't let you in."

The man is young. My age, possibly younger. The sun is in my eyes when I look up at him, so I squint. I must look threatening because he flinches away. I wonder what kinds of stories about me he was raised with.

I decide to make the best of it.

"What's your name?" I question.

He doesn't look like he wants to answer, but after a pause he says, "Travis."

"I'd just like to speak to my friends for a second, Travis."

"Sorry," he apologizes, sounding sincere, "but I've been given orders not to let anyone in here."

"Just for a second," I continue.

"Uh," he looks around nervously, "I can't."

"Well then," I say, sighing. "Do you enjoy sleep, Travis?"

"Uh . . . yeah?" he answers slowly.

I nod. "Me too. There's nothing worse than waking up to a bed full of angry crabs, isn't it? All those pincers clacking wildly. Might take off a chunk of skin. Very unpleasant."

He looks terribly confused, but even more unsettled.

"A crab king owes me a favor," I lie. "I'm sure him and his kingdom would be more than happy to help keep you company at night. That is, if you don't let me through those doors, of course." _Crab king? Are you serious, Cora? A monarch crustacean was the most threatening thing you could think of?_

Despite how stupid my threat is, Travis buys it. Poor kid.

Once the chain locks have been removed from the doors, I burst into the rec room and trip over a volleyball net.

"Are you hurt?" a voice asks. It's Sayid.

I pick myself up and brush off my knees, which are bleeding. "Yeah, a little."

"Good," he answers cruelly.

I look around the room. Kate is seated in the corner, handcuffed next to a laundry basket full of basketballs. Jack is handcuffed to the bars of one window, Sayid to the bars of another window on the far side of the room, and John Locke to the third and final window to the left of the room. Charlie is handcuffed to a chair.

I always got him mixed up with his role in _The Lord of the Rings _as the Hobbit Merry Brandybuck. Although as a Hobbit he was always clean-shaven and didn't wear eyeliner.

His expression of pure hatred makes me sad. I don't like knowing people dislike me.

"Look," I tell him, "I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but you can be angry with me later. Right now, wouldn't you like to see Claire?"

"What have you done with her?" Charlie yells.

"What have you done with Sawyer?" Kate questions.

"Sawyer's fine. He's wandering around outside somewhere." A thought strikes me and I grow agitated. "Hey, why aren't you all angry with Sawyer? The Others abducted both of us!"

"Sawyer's real name is James. His name was on the manifest," says Jack. "Yours wasn't."

_How did they know his real name? Did he tell it to Kate? _I find myself growing warm with jealousy. "Again, there's a really complicated answer to that. But right now, Charlie, wouldn't you like to see Claire? She can answer your questions. She'll vouch for me."

"You've probably brainwashed her," Sayid comments.

The doors behind us slam open and Ben stalks inside. "Have you lost your mind?"

Travis trails in behind him. "Mr. Linus, sir—" Ben shoots him a look, and Travis shrinks away.

Oops. "It's my fault. I made him open the door."

"Of course it's your fault," Ben mutters at a level that makes it clear I'm not supposed to hear, but I hear him anyway. "It's always your fault these days."

It's happening again. System failure. I'm upset that I got Travis in trouble, and I'm upset that I got myself in trouble. I can't think of any response. I just shrink up and wish everyone would go away.

Ben grabs hold of my arm and starts pulling me to the doors. For a second I almost comply, but then a voice in my head yells, _You're a grown woman, dammit! _So I slap his hand away and turn to collect Charlie.

"What are you doing?" Ben has fixated one of those falsely calm expressions on me—the ones that usually make me have a panic attack. Now it just pisses me off to a very dangerous extreme.

I find it easy to be brave if I pretend none of this is even real. Which isn't too much of a stretch. I mean, these really are fictitious people on a fictitious island. What does it matter if they're mad at me? Who cares? They aren't even real people anyway.

I grab hold of Charlie's shoulder and try to pull him up, but his arms are twisted behind him, and the handcuffs have been looped through the chair bars.

"Hey, take it easy," Charlie complains.

I make for the door. Ben looks relieved that I'm leaving, but I stop at the doorway and whistle loudly by sticking two fingers in my mouth. Thankfully, it works.

"What is it, my lady?" Eddard asks. He and two other wolves have responded.

I point at Ben. "Restrain him."

Ben takes a weary step back, his eyes widening with fear. "What are you doing?" he splutters.

Eddard and the two others lower into a threatening stance, their hair bristling and rising as they emit a deep warning growl, and back Ben up against a wall.

"Give me the keys to the handcuffs," I order firmly, holding out a hand.

"You are making a big mistake," Ben says quietly.

I wiggle my outstretched fingers. "The keys, Ben."

"Oh my God," Kate gasps from the corner. "What are you doing?"

John Locke is the only person in this room that hasn't said a word. He's silently observing us all, and I find it very unsettling.

"Eddard," I say.

Ben flinches a hand to his pocket, stuttering, "Alright, alright! Here!" He tosses me the keys.

I unlock Charlie's handcuffs and guide him towards the doors. "You can let him go now," I tell Eddard. The wolves back up and allow Ben to pass through the doors ahead of me. I look back at the remaining survivors—Jack, Kate, Sayid, and John Locke. I'm guessing I'll have to work on them one by one. And I doubt this little episode has won me back any of their friendship. Still, I don't want anything to happen to them as backlash for my intrusion into their prison. "Eddard, I have one more favor to ask."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Could you and your pack secure this building? If anyone should try and enter without me with them, you have my permission to stop them by whatever means necessary. Can you do this for me?"

"I'll bring them here at once," Eddard answers and sends one of the wolves, named Theon, to retrieve the rest of the pack.

When the pack arrives, I enlist the help of a young wolf named Robert to escort Charlie to Claire's hospital. As I pass by Ben—who is standing in the grass right outside the rec room, mouth agape—the fury starts to wear off and I feel like an ass. He looks terrified. I wouldn't feel so bad if I had just lashed out and attacked him myself, but I used Eddard and his family. I used someone else to do my bidding without even thinking twice about it.

"You're really scary," Charlie comments randomly.

The guilt I was just starting to feel finally sets in. _This isn't me. Why am I acting like this?_ "Is everyone okay back at the beach?" I ask, trying to change the subject. "Has anyone . . .?"

"Been brutally murdered?" he finishes for me, grinning. "Alas, love. Things haven't been _that _interesting. We've mostly been battling sand fleas, ticks, giant man-eating crickets from the depths of Hell . . . That sort of thing. The only reason we left is because you took Claire." We pass by a few houses and Charlie whistles. "Looks like I should have switched teams a long time ago. You guys are living the life of luxury out here."

"Hey, you found the high school dropout!" Sawyer strolls over and slaps Charlie on the back. "Good to see you, Chucky!"

"It's Charlie," he corrects.

"Where are you two headed? Are you the only one they kidnapped?" Sawyer ponders. "Can't imagine what they want _you_ for."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asks him, glancing at me.

"Get used to being confused," Sawyer warns him. "I never know what the hell is going on anymore. Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a date with a hot blonde."

I wonder if he means Juliet, or if there's a blonde woman actually willing to put up with his antics.

"So, I'm guessing you run this place?" Charlie asks, looking down at Robert. "The dogs seem to really like you."

"Wolves," I correct. "They're wolves. And no, I'm not the leader." _Not yet, anyway._

"Who was that guy you pimp-slapped earlier?"

I snort. "Did you really just use the phrase _pimp-slapped_?"

"I call em like I see em."

"He's the . . . well, he's the leader here."

Charlie bursts into laughter and I feel even guiltier.

"We're here," I say when we finally reach the hospital. It's painted the same pale yellow, like all the other buildings. "Now remember, Claire's due to go into labor any day now, so try not to get her too worked up."

"Has she been okay?" Charlie stops walking and stares me down. "Honestly?"

"I can honestly say that she has had the best treatment available. I told you, we're friends. There's no way I would allow something to happen to her."

I don't think Charlie believes me, but at least he isn't giving me a death glare anymore. I open the hospital doors and nod for him to enter. "Come see for yourself."


	13. Persuasion

**I literally have no idea how I finished such a long chapter so quickly, but I'm sorry to have to warn you not to expect this regularly. Hopefully the length (it's the longest chapter so far) will satisfy you all for now. **

**Thank you for your reviews!**

News of what I did spreads incredibly fast. I discover that the whole island knows when a young girl bursts into the hospital, spewing some nonsense about how I'm Hitler and I'm going to enslave them all by using the animals as my soldiers. When she notices I'm sitting on the other side of Claire's hospital bed, she shrieks and trips twice on her way back out the door.

Charlie, who actually witnessed what really happened, starts to laugh.

"I don't see what's so funny," I huff. "That was a complete and utter exaggeration."

"She exaggerated, yes, but not really all that much." Charlie shrugs. "I mean, you _did_ set your little dog friends on your own leader."

_"Wolves_," I correct. "And I'm going to apologize later, okay? It's not like I wanted to use force. And you should be thanking me! I had to do it so I could bring you here!"

Charlie looks down at Robert, who sits rigidly next to me. "How do you get them to behave?"

My hand wanders down to pet Robert's ears, and he licks my fingers. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Shoot."

"I can talk to animals." Charlie slowly raises an eyebrow and I shrug. "It's true. I'm like that really unfortunate looking girl in _The Wild Thornberrys_."

Charlie straightens in his seat. "Oooo, I love American cartoons! You guys have TVs here?"

"We do," Ethan answers, "but we don't have cable. Hope you guys like Disney VHS's."

"I'm sorry, but you can do _what_?" Claire asks.

"Crazy, right?" I tell her. "One day I can't even have a regular conversation with another human being, and then suddenly I can talk to every little thing on this stupid island."

"I'm so confused," Claire moans and brings a hand up to her forehead.

"I think you two should leave," says Ethan. "You're upsetting her."

"No, I'll leave," I offer. "Robert, stay here with Charlie. He's not allowed to leave this hospital without me. I'll be back later."

Robert bumps the top of his head onto my outstretched hand. "Yes, lady Cora."

I reach down and give Robert a good scratch behind the ears, and then I lock eyes with Charlie. _What an odd mess I've made. Ethan's supposed to be dead sometime soon, and now the person responsible for his death is sitting a few feet away from him without any reason to kill him. _"Can I trust you not to do anything stupid?"

Charlie gives a short burst of laughter. "And get on _your _bad side? No, no, no. I'll be a saint!" He takes a finger and crosses over his heart.

I run into Juliet on the way out.

"How is she?" she asks. "I was about to check up on her."

"Looks fine to me." I take off towards the rec room, but stop short. "Hey, Juliet? Can I ask you something?" She nods. "What's in the serum you keep injecting Claire with? Did you find a cure for . . . whatever it is that's killing pregnant women?"

I catch the hints of a pathetically fake smile, but it's not the arrogant smirk I'm used to receiving. This one is full of legitimate pain. "It was something I've been developing this past year. Test results have led me to believe radiation poisoning is what's causing the autoimmune disorders in the early stages of pregnancy. The serum cannot combat the disorder within the first few trimesters, but luckily Claire was far enough along to survive with what I created."

Juliet looks like she hasn't slept in God only knows how long. She's taller than me, and bustier than me, and her cheekbones are definitely more defined than mine, but in some parallel universe I guess I can see why people think we're related. I mean, if nothing else, we're both blonde.

Then it hits me. _Is this what I used to look like? Walking around like a zombie, short tempered when forced to converse with others? _

I feel like crap. Looking back and comparing us both, I've only been here a few weeks and I already feel mental, while Juliet has been here for three years and she still seems relatively sane. Three years away from her old life—from her family. Oh, no. I had forgotten about her sister. And her new nephew!

_Come to think of it, she hasn't even done anything to me, and I've consistently been rude to her. And over what? Her personal life choices? Okay, so she had an affair. So what? That may piss me off, but at the end of the day it's none of my business._

She turns towards the hospital to check on Claire and I say, "Thank you . . . for Claire. For taking care of her."

Juliet's eyebrows scrunch, as if my thank you comes as a shock. "Of course."

_Has anyone ever even properly thanked her for being here? For sacrificing her future so that we can live?_ "And thank you for being here," I tell her. "For helping. Your work means a lot to us."

"Does it?" she says quietly. "You're welcome, I guess."

I officially don't know how to handle this situation. There's something I could say to try and make it a little less awkward. There's something I could say to make Juliet a little less sad, but I can't think of what it is. So, like the socially inept weirdo I am, I just leave without even saying goodbye.

"Cora?" Juliet calls.

I turn around, thankful that the conversation won't end on such a weird note. "Yes?"

"I've heard about what happened earlier." She takes a quick glance around and then moves in closer. "With the wolves."

My face immediately starts to warm. "Yeah, about that. You probably didn't get the real story."

She waves away my words with a dismissive hand. "I'm not here to judge your actions. But what you did . . . you should have been executed for it."

"_WHAT_?"

"Shhh!" she warns, placing a finger on her lips. "I'm just letting you know. It's a criminal offence to attack a community member like that. Especially Ben, since it's considered treason to attack the leader. Don't look so afraid. There isn't a chance in the world the council will approve your execution. I'm just letting you know—" she takes another quick glance around to make sure we're alone, "I just wanted to let you know the kind of power you have. You're not even the official leader yet and you have arguably more power than Ben himself."

"Okay," I say. "Thanks?"

"I just . . . wanted to ask . . . once you're the new leader," her eyes—misty with what looks to be sorrow—lock with mine, "will _you_ let me leave this place? Will you let me go home?"

_So that's what this is about. _"Yes," I tell her. "Of course."

"Really?" she blurts out.

"Sure. If you want to go home, you should be able to go home. I guess we can always find someone else to help us with your research."

Juliet sighs, blinking back tears, and she brings a hand up to clutch at her chest.

It's weird seeing her so . . . human. She's been so robotically stale since the moment I met her. It's nice to see she's not completely void. "And I owe you an apology," I tell her. "I haven't been treating you with much respect, and I'm very sorry about that."

"Thank you." She seems surprised. "I . . . I appreciate that."

All I can think about now is what I will feel like three years from now. _What will it feel like to have been separated from my family for that long? From my mother? My siblings?_ The thought makes me sick. "Why can't you leave today?" I ask.

"Ben says I can't leave until I find a cure. I've tried, Cora, but I . . ." her voice wavers, "I've hit a roadblock. I just . . . I just want to go home."

_Think . . . _

When Jack was captured, Ben promised he would let Jack and Juliet go home if they conducted surgery on his spine.

"Spine!" I gasp. "Has Ben asked you for an x-ray yet?"

"He had it done after securing your friends in the rec room. I'm about to check on it. Why?"

_Think, Cora, think . . ._

After they conducted the surgery, Ben agreed to let them both go home—go in a submarine and sail off towards the Mainland.

Why didn't they get to leave?

Oh no.

John Locke was why.

And now he's _here. _He's in the perfect position to do exactly what he did in the show. I can't let that happen. I can't watch the look on Juliet's face when her only hope of leaving this island is blown to bits by a bald man with a backpack full of C-4. But when will he strike? The timeline is different now! It could be at any time!

Juliet can't afford to wait for me to become the leader. She needs to leave _now._

"I'll go talk to Ben," I say. "I might be able to get you out of here sooner."

Juliet gives me a look full of exhaustion. "I've been trying to convince him to let me leave for the past three years."

"No offence," I say, smiling, "but you're not me."

. . . . .

I give three impatient knocks and wait for someone to answer. A few seconds later the door swings open to reveal Ben, his circular reading glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.

"Good," he says. "I was just about to look for you. I'd like a word, please."

He steps aside and I walk past him into the living room. The lamp on his desk is on. It shines down and illuminates all the masses of paperwork he has stacked into neat little piles. I hear the door close, so I turn around to accept whatever verbal bashing he has planned.

For a second I think he's going to yell at me, but then he exhales and takes a seat at his desk in the corner of the living room. "Do you have any idea what I've been doing for the past few hours?" he asks.

_Oh, here we go. _"No, I don't."

He folds his hands together and lays them out in front of him on the desk. "I've been trying to save your life," he says calmly. "I am currently swimming in legal paperwork, if you didn't notice."

_Holy crap. Juliet wasn't kidding._ "I came here to apologize."

"You came to . . . to _apologize_?" He gives a humorless laugh and stares at me as if I'm insane. "You really don't understand, do you?" he accuses. "What the hell did you think you were doing? I know this may come as a shock to you, but we have _rules_ here. Rules we must all follow, or very bad things will happen."

"I'm sorry, but I still don't see why this is such a big deal. Can't you just vouch for me? You're their leader! Don't you have final say on these things?"

Ben sighs and rubs his thumbs in circles over his temples. "Cora, I'm just one person. These people may call me their leader, but the reality is that there is nothing keeping them from kicking down my front door and doing away with me and you and all of the animals under our care. I can't keep making excuses for your behavior. You're scaring people. You have to start following our laws or you're going to get us both killed."

"But I thought all good monarchs struck fear into their followers?" _Isn't that how he operates? _

"Fear is cheap. It will only get you so far. You don't need them to fear you, you need them to respect you."

"What do I do?" I ask helplessly.

"You can start by informing yourself of our laws, and start following them. Better yet, you need to start enforcing them. Nobody is going to respect you if you can't even practice what you preach."

"Can you help me?" I hope I don't sound as pathetic as I feel.

"Of course." Ben's calm demeanor has returned. "After I'm done with this mess, I'll go over them with you."

_Crisis averted. For now, at least. Wait . . . what was I even here for to begin with? Oh, right. _"Can I ask a favor?"

"I don't know," he retorts sarcastically, returning his attention back to the paperwork. "Can you?"

"I want you to let Juliet go home on the next available submarine."

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Ben looks up and pulls off his glasses. "And why, may I ask, would I do that?"

"Because she wants to go home," I answer. "Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"Nobody forced Juliet to come here. She came willingly."

"That's bull, and you know it! You force fed her a bunch of crap about being located in Portland so she wouldn't be intimidated."

"Richard told her we weren't located in Portland," Ben says, pushing his paperwork aside and turning to look up at me. "He told her right before she was scheduled to leave on the submarine, and she still came. She still chose to be here."

"Well, she doesn't _choose _to be here anymore. And frankly, I agree. Three years and all she has are theories that fail and leave one more woman dead. Can't you even comprehend what that's doing to her sanity?"

"Once you come here, you cannot leave this island."

"That's a lie!" I yell. "_You_ leave all the time! You even have fake identities so people can't track you!"

"How do you know—?" he starts, but I cut him off.

I lean in close, pointing a finger at his face. "You are going to let that woman go home, right now."

"Or what?" he questions dryly. "You're going to wag your finger at me? Give me a good chastising?" Ben slowly pushes up out of his seat, so I'm forced to look up at him. "You could always just command your wolves to do your work for you. You've gotten good at that."

I retract my finger and my face warms with shame. "I'm sorry that happened, but you weren't listening to me."

He moves in closer. "You tell me not to treat you like a child, and yet you turn around and treat me the exact same way."

"I said I'm sorry."

"I have only ever done what you asked me to," he continues, his voice getting louder, "and you react as if I'm your enemy. I'm only trying to protect you."

"I'm sorry, okay?" I breathe. My back bumps into something, and my fingers run over the weathered spines of old books. I forgot to ask his favorite genre. "But I don't need you to take care of me."

"_We're supposed to take care of each other!_" he yells. How did he get so close without me realizing it? I can feel his breath on my face. The air around him smells of expensive cologne. "I just . . . I . . ."

I never allow anyone to get this close to me, especially not men. I'm hardwired to react negatively to the close proximity of males. My training tries to kick in, tries to make me flee the scene, tries to convince me that men are dangerous in the short term _and_ the long term. Isn't my father proof enough of that? I'm better off alone. Men are liars. _People _are liars. They will say whatever they need too to try and win your trust, and then they will betray you in the worst of ways and leave you wishing you were dead.

But despite this dark thought, something in the back of my mind reminds me of Ben's actions earlier today.

_ He stepped in front of a loaded gun to protect me. He shielded me with his own body._

My mother always said actions speak louder than words. And his actions now are speaking more than words ever could.

I look into his endless blue eyes and read the hunger there. Then something happens that hasn't happened to me in many, many years. I feel my skin tingling and my body grows warm with desire.

I've always been attracted to men, sure, but for the longest time I've been . . . well, for lack of a better word, unstimulated. I could appreciate men, but there was never a lustful spark inside me. Never any kind of sexual urge. Now my heart actually hurts from the ferocity of its beats.

Good God, maybe I _was_ depressed and now I'm unleashing years of pent up hormones.

I'm so turned on I start to panic. This is dangerous territory because I've never experienced it before, so I don't know how to handle it. It was easy to keep my distance from men when I had no physical desires, but now I'm consumed with so much lust I can't even think straight. Can he tell?

A fat drop of nervous perspiration tickles its way from the top of my neck down between my shoulder blades. My fight or flight reflex seems to be broken. By now I should be halfway to China, but for some reason I can't move. What's worse is that a rather large part of me is actually fighting to stay exactly where I am.

We both flinch when the phone rings with a loud shrillness. It takes a second for the paralysis to wear off, but then Ben is hurrying to his desk. He pulls the phone off the hook mid-ring. "Hello?" he answers. "Yes. Yes?" At this he turns to look at me. "Alright. Yes, I'll tell her. Thank you, Juliet. Goodbye." He places the phone back on the receiver. "Juliet just examined my x-rays."

"Oh?" I'm so lightheaded I feel like I might pass out.

"There isn't anything there that doesn't belong."

"No tumor?" I question stupidly.

"No tumor. May I ask why you thought there was one?"

"Just one more thing I've been wrong about," I answer. "I'm glad to be certain, though."

This seems to please him. "I appreciate your concern."

I'm still backed up against his bookshelf, even though he's a good ten feet away. My hand brushes up against a particularly weathered spine, so I turn to see what it is. It's a copy of Jane Austin's _Persuasion_. I can honestly say I did not expect to find that on his shelf. Lined up in a neat row are all of Austin's works. I wonder if they're Alex's.

Now that Ben is not so close, I remember, once again, why I came here. "What will it take for you to let her go?"

"Cora," he sighs, "please don't start that again."

"If it's a reprimand issue, I'll take full responsibility."

"She can't leave," he says, "because she hasn't discovered a cure yet."

"And what if she never does? How is that fair to her? She deserves to return to her family."

I can tell Ben is getting frustrated all over again. "But what about you?"

"What about me?"

His expression gives him away. He's said too much.

My stomach plummets at a horrible thought. "Ben . . . please tell me you didn't bring her here because I told you to. Please tell me this isn't my fault." He won't look at me, and it's making me sick. "Ben, answer me."

"Don't you want children someday?"

"I don't know! Maybe? But I'll gladly never have children if it means she gets to go home." This isn't making any sense. "If you won't do it for her sake, will you do it for _me_, then? It would make me happy. Please?"

Ben doesn't even get the opportunity to answer because Alex practically breaks the front door down.

"Dad?" She looks around the room wildly, storming over to his desk when she sees him. "Why can't you just leave us alone?"

"Alex, please. I'm in the middle of a conversation."

She ignores him and turns to me. "Do you know what he did? He sent Todd to spy on me and my boyfriend!"

I quickly cover my mouth to try and stifle the snort of laughter that bursts force. For once it's not nervous laughter—I actually find the situation kind of funny.

Alex frowns. "It's not funny Cora. This is such a violation of my privacy!"

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Todd's snout peek in through the open door. I abandon poor Ben and slip out before Alex starts throwing things.

Todd shakes his head violently and paws at an ear. "What an obnoxious child."

"I can see where she's coming from, though," I say. "You _were_ invading her privacy with . . . what's his name? Carl?"

"I call him dog breath."

I lean up against a nearby house to support myself as I laugh. "Why?"

"He's one of the people in charge of distributing the dog food to the carnivorous animals. Not all of us can be herbivores, my dear."

I follow Todd as he weaves his way through the community, but the looks I receive from people start to worry me. "Todd? Can we please go back to the clearing?" I whisper. "I don't feel comfortable here."

Once I've settled down in the grass, far away from the homes in the Barracks, I finally begin to relax. "My friends from the beach—how did they get past the fence?" I ask, looking out across the expanse of the grassy field that leads to the sonar fence.

"From what I've heard they propped a tree up against one of the pylons, and then shimmied up and over." He flicks a butterfly away with his tail. "What were you and Ben discussing before little miss drama queen interrupted?"

"Juliet asked me to let her go home."

"Ah," Todd says. "Poor woman. Although I am eternally grateful she's here."

"Because?" I prod.

"How do you think new animals are born? The serum she created works on us, but not on you. That, unfortunately, is something I fear I will never comprehend."

"Wait, so animals can give birth of the island, but not humans?"

"Precisely. The majority of humans you see walking around weren't born here. Their parents were recruited . . . or forced to come here, however you'd like to look at it."

"But then why is Ben keeping Juliet here?" I ask. "If he constantly brings new members to live on the island, he doesn't have to worry about the population dying off. Can't he just bring in a new fertility specialist? One without family attachments?"

"The woman impregnated a male mouse, Cora. She has a gift—some internal intuition that cannot be learned. That is why she stays. Ben cannot afford to let her go."

"Yes, he can," I argue. "You just said he recruits people all the time, so there will always be people here on the island. Why can't they just . . . I don't know . . . let Juliet continue her research back home? She has all the findings. Why does she need to be _here_?"

"Ben keeps her here as a safety precaution, of course. In case someone important was to ever get pregnant on the island." Todd wraps his tail around his feet. "It would be best to have Juliet only a few minutes away."

I try and think of important female characters whose death would greatly impact the Others, but the only person I can think of is Juliet herself. "Someone important? Like who?"

"Hm," Todd pretends to ponder. "I just don't know. You perhaps?"

"Me?" I laugh uncomfortably. "I can assure you that I am in absolutely no danger of becoming pregnant."

"And you're certain you are not already?'

"Unless I'm the new Virgin Mary, that's anatomically impossible."

"Hm," Todd says. "I learn more about you everyday."

This isn't funny anymore. "Why would Ben be worried about me getting pregnant?"

Todd cocks his head and stares me down. "I assume it's because he's going to marry you, silly girl."

I stare at Todd with my mouth hanging open.

"Close your mouth, dear. That's a great way to catch flies." I continue to stare at him. "Oh, you can't honestly say you didn't see it coming. It's only obvious that he's smitten with you. In fact, the funny thing is _you_ seem to have sealed your own fate."

"_How_?"

"The council doesn't trust you," he explains. "They fear you are a very dangerous traitor mascaraing as the legend you once were. Ben threw out their initial ruling of execution, but they will not allow him to throw out a sentencing altogether. Their second decision was for you to prove your loyalty. They decided marking you would not suffice, and instead decided to marry you off to the current leader, whom you attacked in the first place." Todd flicks his tail with a flourish. "It was Ben's idea."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" I rake my fingers through my hair. "How does this solve anything?"

"It's politics, my dear Cora. Through marriage you become an official member of their society. Or, at least that's how the majority of people will look at it. It was the only way to pacify the masses. You've done an excellent job of terrifying them."

"It was one time!" I choke out. "I wasn't thinking. Oh, God, I wasn't thinking."

"Thinking is usually the better option," Todd quips.

_No, no, no._ "Can't they just exile me or something?"

"Do you know who chooses new leaders?" Todd asks. "I've heard quite a few people say they believe the island does, but I'm not entirely convinced of that. I believe it is dear old Jacob himself who chooses. I must say, in this instance I'm not sure if he's just screwing around with you, or if he truly believes you are best suited for the job. Either way," Todd continues lightheartedly, "it is most amusing for me to observe."

"You said there's a council? What council? What do they say?"

"They fear it won't be long before you rally yourself some troops and disregard their carefully appointed hierarchy."

"But I wouldn't do that!" I argue. "Half these animals don't even like me."

"People tend to jump to the worst case scenario." Todd sits up next to my seat in the grass. "I must admit you've peeked my interest. Tell me, why would marriage to Ben be such a bad thing?"

It's not marriage to Ben I have a problem with.

It's not even marriage to anyone in particular.

It's marriage itself.

"Cora?" Todd shakes my leg with a paw. "Stop it. You're frightening me."

I didn't notice I was holding my breath. "I won't do it," I say sternly. _To hell with this place. To hell with Jacob and Ben and the survivors and the animals. Nobody is going to force me into a contract I can't escape from. Nobody in my family has ever gotten a divorce, and I always promised I would keep that chain unbroken by never getting married._

The memory is resurfacing. The memory that I've pretended didn't exist for so long. For the first time since it happened, it assaults my mind full force, and it's like I'm experiencing it for the first time all over again. I need to tell someone. I need to release it out into the world or I'm going to go insane.

"Todd? I'm going to tell you a secret."

His ears perk up. "And why will you bestow such an honor upon me?"

"Because you can't speak English to anyone but me, so I don't have to worry about anyone else finding out."

"Ah," he says, his ears flattening. "I cannot fault you for that."

So I begin.

_It's 2am and I still haven't heard back from my mother. I have no idea where she went, or when she plans on returning._

_ If she plans on returning at all._

_ I leap up from my seat on the living room sofa when I hear the front door open. What I see makes me paralyzed with fear and confusion._

_ My father is supporting the full weight of my mother, who is covered head to toe in blood. Long gashes slash up and down her jeans and shirt, shredding the fabric and staining it with clotted blood. Almost all of her forehead is missing. Just gone. Blood is everywhere._

_ I fall to my mother's side where my father has left her slumped against the wall. _"_What did you do to her?" I snarl defensively, my whole body racking with adrenaline._

_ "I didn't do anything," my father answers calmly. "I was on my way to the bar and found her like this."_

_ "Where's my purse?" she mumbles. "Where the hell is my purse? He's going to steal it!"_

_ "Mom? Mom, look at me." I try to take her bloodied face in my hands, but she lashes out and smacks me hard on the nose._

_ Her sour breath reeks of spirits. "I have to pee," she giggles._

_ She's drunk. _

_ My mother—whom I have never seen drink so much as a sip of after dinner wine—is completely wasted._

_ I hold her close and cradle her in my arms like a child. "Is she . . . drunk?"_

_ My father looks down at the both of us and snorts. "I just said I found her at a bar, Cora. Use your brain. Of course she's drunk."_

_ My sweet, loving, gentle mother has been soiled with alcohol, and it's turned her into a monster. A horrible, truthful monster._

_ The next time she cranes her heavy head up to look at me, there's a faint glimmer of familiarity. "I know you," she slurs, but she's not smiling. A drop of blood trails down from her forehead and over one of her eyes. "You're that bitch that took my drink away."_

_ "No, mom, it's me." I'm in shock from hearing her curse. She was always such a strong advocate against it. "It's Cora."_

_ "Hey," she perks up. "Did I ever tell you I have a daughter named Cora?"_

_ "I know," I tell her. "That's me."_

_ But she not listening. She's rambling on without stopping for breath. "I've got a whole mess of kids. You like kids? I like kids. They all hate me, though. Your kids hate you?"_

_ She's so drunk she doesn't even know who I am. Which just makes everything she says that much worse because she honestly doesn't know I can hear her. My throat closes up. "I don't hate you, mom."_

_ "They all resent me. Ungrateful little bastards. Everything I do around here, and all they do is feel sorry for themselves. But what about me?" She jabs a thumb at her chest, and I notice a whole new set of injuries. The gashes on her chest are full of dirt and fabric and tiny little rocks._

_ "Mom, you're hurt." I can barely speak. The sight of my mother so torn up and discarded is too much for me to mentally process._

_ I spend the next hour cleaning each and every wound on her body while trying to dodge her slaps. She seems to think I'm some woman she met at the bar. Cassandra woke up from all the yelling mom's doing, but I tell her to go back to bed. I don't want her to see mom like this._

_ "I have this daughter, see?" she complains loudly, swinging her arms around. "She would be so beautiful if she'd just lose weight. But all she does is mope around and hide in her room. Fat as a freaking house, I kid you not. And it worries me, you know? It's like sometimes I just want to scream at her, 'Get off your ass! Don't you know you're killing yourself?' But I can't do that because her father gives her enough grief already."_

_ I cannot physically move. I'm trapped in my own body, frozen in the position of wiping my mother's cuts clean._

_ The only person whose opinion I actually care about just told me that I'm a fat, lazy, ugly slob._

_ "Cora?" My mother squints up at me. "Aw, no. Don't look at me like this, sweetheart. I'm not wearing makeup."_

_ I've started to cry, but I still cannot move. I cannot run away._

_ "Cora, you're my smart girl," she says lovingly. "Don't you ever get married. It's a damn joke. Don't you ever sign your life away. Don't become me." She digs her fingernails into my skin, pulling me close, her bloodshot eyes wide and crazy. "Promise."_

_ I've broken into panicked sobs. "Let go, you're hurting me!"_

_ Her eyes suddenly roll back and she flops unconscious on the floor. _

_ "Mom?" I ask, shaking her shoulders. "Mom? Mom? Dad! DAD, HELP ME!"_

_ My father helps hoist her up onto the sofa, and she wakes back up. "I'm sorry about the car," she mumbles to my dad. "I'll fix it."_

_ "Where's the phone?" I yell. I don't know why it's just dawning on me. "We have to call an ambulance."_

_ "We can't," my dad answers. He's staring at my mother with what looks like . . . sadness? But that can't be right. My father is never any emotion other than mad and madder._

_ "Why not?" I counter, confused. "Dad, look at her. She needs an ambulance."_

_ "Because I didn't find her at a bar," he admits. "I found her sprawled out on the side of the road. She drove into a tree."_

_ I can hear my mother's snores over the dead silence. I heard what he said, but I can't comprehend it. _

_My mother drove drunk?_

My _mother?_

_ It doesn't make any sense! How could she do something so stupid, so selfish? She's not that kind of person!_

_ Unless she drove into the tree on purpose._

_ "Do we have any Band-Aids?" my father suggests. _

_ "Band-Aids?" I lash out. "Really? Her cuts are so deep, what the hell is a Band-Aid going to do?"_

_"I'm sorry," he cries, and pulls me up into a constricting hug. His whole being reeks of alcohol. He's probably drunk too. "I never wanted this to happen. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't let her go to jail."_

_I stay stock still, like a frightened rabbit, as my father dampens my shoulder with his grown man tears._

_After my father wanders off to God knows where, I stay up the rest of the night and most of the morning watching my mother to make sure she doesn't stop breathing. I'm overloaded on emotion, and now I no longer know how I feel. But I stay awake and look after her because she's my mother, and I don't know what else to do._

"That was the last time I allowed a human to hug me. To touch me."

Todd stares at the ground, surprisingly silent. When he looks back up, his voice is soft. "How old were you?"

I will never forget that day for as long as I live. It was my birthday. "Thirteen."

"What happened after that?"

"When she woke up in the morning," my voice cracks, so I clear my throat, "she didn't remember anything she said or did. My father told her some lie about the car and the cuts she got. I never told her what really happened. I couldn't." I didn't even notice I've been crying. The silent tears slipped out without any warning. "It was my fault."

Todd's ears flatten and he lowers his head. "No, Cora."

"But it was," I insist. "I was so mad at her that day. My father . . . he treated us all like dirt, and she just . . . she never did anything about it! Your parents are supposed to protect you, and she _never did anything_! I said things to her that morning. Horrible, horrible things. She left, and I didn't know where she was going. I didn't know— "

Todd hops into my lap and places his front paws up on my chest. "Now you listen to me," he says sternly. "The actions of your parents or siblings or friends or anyone else you know have _never _been your fault. Ever. Do you hear me? You are not responsible for what someone else does or does not choose to do." I shake my head but he continues despite my reluctance to listen. "What happened to your mother was a terrible thing, but you weren't even there when it happened. You didn't force drinks down her throat. You didn't convince her to get into her car drunk. Your parents were the one's who made stupid decisions, not you."

It's what I've needed to hear for seven painstakingly long years.

"Oh, my melancholy friend," Todd says and licks my cheek. Then he leans his head forward to rest on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around him to pull him into a hug. He lets me cry on him all afternoon.

I feel lucky to have a friend that can understand me but is physically incapable of sharing my secrets. It may be selfish, but it is what it is.

"Cora?"

I open my itchy eyes to discover the day is almost done, and there's a woman standing over me. Flanked on either side of her are people with guns drawn. Although they aren't pointed at me, the message is still clear. "What's going on?" I ask nervously.

The woman tosses a pair of handcuffs at my feet. "I'm going to have to ask you to put those on."

"What do you want me to do?" Todd asks. "Should I retrieve Eddard?"

"No," I tell him. The last thing I want right now is a full on war. "It's okay. You should leave though."

Todd leaps out of my lap and scurries off into the trees. I'm sad to see him go.

"What did you just tell him?" the woman asks, eying me suspiciously.

There's no point in Todd being here. There isn't anything he can do. "I told him to leave. This doesn't have anything to do with him."

The woman looks familiar, but I can't remember what her name is. She was one of those characters that only showed up once or twice in the span of the entire show. She has short blonde hair, thin pinched lips, and really scary eyebrows. When she speaks, her voice is low and scratchy, like my chain-smoking aunt Claudine. "My name is Isabel. I'm the sheriff, of sorts. Do you know why I'm here?"

"I think I get the gist of it, yes." Never in my life did I imagine myself being incarcerated. I always thought I was too boring to do something jail-worthy. Go figure. "I'll cooperate." The sooner I get this over with, the better.

I start to panic after my hands are restrained behind my back and someone tries to tie a handkerchief to cover my mouth.

"We cannot have you talking to any humans or animals until after the trial," Isabel explains. "It's just a safety precaution. Nothing to worry yourself about."

_What have I done? What if they're lying to me, and they're actually leading me someone so they can shoot me and dump me in a hole? What if this is the group Ben was talking about? The one he was so afraid would form from fear of me? Does Ben even know where I am?_

"Stop struggling," Isabel warns.

"I don't want the handkerchief!" I yell, twisting my head away from it.

"Have it your way," she says.

I open my mouth to call Todd back when somebody whacks the butt of their gun against the back of my head. My vision tunnels, and I fall into a heavy, silent darkness.

**NOTE: Just thought I'd mention that miserable OC's are really fun to write. I hope that doesn't say anything weird about my psyche.**


	14. What Cora Did

DHARMA, 1974

_My classroom is noisy with whispers. Susan, the girl behind me, asks Annie if she knows who our new teacher will be. Mrs. Goodspeed, our old teacher, has been missing for nine whole days. My dad says she's dead. He says the Hostiles killed her._

_ Annie twists around in her seat and answers, "It's one of the shipwreck survivors. It's the blonde woman." Annie would know. Her mother works in the school department._

_ "Which one?" Susan asks, leaning forward in her desk. "The tall one or the crazy one?"_

_ Annie's eyes widen. "The crazy one."_

_ The whispers get louder._

_Suddenly the door flies open and a rabbit cage comes walking into the classroom. "YO, YO, YO, MY PEEPS!" it yells. I crane my neck and see that a woman is carrying the cage. Annie was right. It's the crazy blonde woman that was rescued from the beach three months ago._

_Our new teacher sets the rabbit cage down on the teacher's desk at the front of the classroom and then stares at us all. "How many of you can read Tangwar?" she asks loudly._

_Annie, as always, raises her hand. "What's that?"_

_"There's work to be done!" The new teacher throws her arms up and turns to the chalkboard. "Alright, class. My name is Miss Collins, and I'll be replacing your old teacher indefinably."_

_Annie raises her hand. "Miss Collins, what happened to Mrs. Goodspeed?"_

_"Mrs. Goodspeed isn't a teacher here anymore. She, uh . . . she's taking an extended vacation." I watch her write lines of pretty scribblings on the chalkboard. "Now, I want everyone to take out a piece of paper and a pencil. We're going to learn how to introduce ourselves in the written Tengwar, as well as the spoken Sindarin." Under the strange flowing marks, Miss Collins writes (Greetings, friend. My name is _.)_

_Annie raises her hand again. "Miss Collins, what's Send-ertin?"_

_"Sin-dar-in," Miss Collins sounds out, and then claps her hands together excitedly. "Elvish!"_

_Visions of scary tiny people with pointy ears—who never remember to leave me Christmas presents—come to mind._

_"Why are we learning Elvish?" Annie asks innocently. She doesn't mean to be rude or disrespectful. She's just naturally curious. "It's not a language. There's no such thing as Elves."_

_The class gets very, very quiet. I've never actually met Miss Collins before, but I've heard a lot about her. My dad told me he overheard the security personnel say they found her wandering around the beach near the submarine dock, trying to talk to a tree frog._

_Miss Collins slowly walks through the aisles, in-between Annie's desk and mine, and kneels down, facing Annie. "What's your name?"_

_I can't see most of Miss Collins's face through her long blonde hair, so I can't tell what mood she's in. She smells of sunscreen and tropical fruit._

_Annie catches my eye, but quickly looks back at the teacher. "Annie," she answers._

_"Well then, Annie," says Miss Collins. "Thank you for volunteering to go first. Repeat after me. EH-neth neen Annie. My name is Annie."_

_Annie, who is never shy, suddenly seems to have stage fright. "Eh-neth . . ."_

_"Neen."_

_"Neen . . . Annie?"_

_Miss Collins smiles, and I can feel everyone around me relax. "That was pretty convincing, for someone who denies their existence. Are you sure you don't have Elf in your lineage?"_

_One by one my classmates raise their hands and cry, "Me next!"_

_Miss Collins turns to me, and I finally see what she looks like up close. Her eyes are mossy green, and her teeth are really white, and there's the faint sign of a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles._

_I've seen her before._

_"Hellllooooo?" Miss Collins is waving a hand in front of my face. I snap back to attention and shrink in my seat, listening as the class breaks out into giggles. "Are you going to tell me your name or not?"_

_ She knows my name. I know she does because I told it to her when I first met her in the jungle—the first time I tried to run away from DHARMA. She's a Hostile._

_I shrink further in my seat and stare at my thumbs._

_ A loud siren goes off outside, and my classmates all look to Miss Collins for instruction. Miss Collins looks bored._

_ "Well, go on, then," she instructs. "Go huddle in the corner."_

_ During all the other drills, Mrs. Goodspeed would try to stay calm while locking all of the classroom doors, retrieving her rifle from under her desk, and keeping guard at the window. Instead, Miss Collins unlatches the cage on her desk, pulls out the panicked little white rabbit, and starts to stroke its fur to calm it down._

_ Annie pokes my side and whispers, "Why isn't she locking the doors?" _

_ I shrug, but it's a lie. I know why Miss Collins isn't worried about an attack._

_It's because her own people are the ones attacking._

. . . . .

_Oh._

_My head . . ._

I crack my eyes open and find the late night sky is speckled with stars. Small little goosebumps prickle my skin and I reach up to rub at my arms and try to warm myself, but my hands have been handcuffed behind my back. The night air is chilly, but the ground is even worse. No heat rises from my bed in the dirt.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize I'm in a large cage. I want to yell something inappropriate, but my speech is muffled. I've been gagged.

"So, it is you." A massive dark-brown bird that looks like a mix between a giant bald eagle and an oversized hawk is standing outside my cage, peering in at me with its shiny black eyes. "It has been a long time, Cora. Where have you been all these years?" The bird is so big that it cannot fit through the bars of the polar bear cage.

_Hurley Bird? _It's hard to tell because the real Hurley Bird had been a cheap CGI effect whose claim to fame had lasted a total of four seconds on the show. This is an actual bird. "Mpfff!" I struggle to sit upright. "Mmmph! Mppfffffff!"

Hurley Bird extends his neck and spreads his wings to ready for flight. "They are returning. I am sorry I cannot free you, my friend."

_No! Don't go!_ "MMPPHHHHH!"

"Cora?" asks a voice. "What's wrong?"

"Mfffp?" I flop around, trying to sit up without the use of my hands.

Ben reaches my line of sight and I'm suddenly thankful that my speech is muffled. My vocabulary is slightly less than academic.

There's the sound of keys clanking, then the rusty squeak of a hinge. Then he's kneeling down and tugging off the tie around my mouth.

"_You!" _I screech and try to kick him. "I just saw Hurley Bird! I just saw him, and I couldn't talk to him because you _put this stupid thing over my mouth!_"

"I didn't put anything over your mouth," he says defensively. "But that's precisely the reason why Isabel did. She didn't want you talking to anyone. Might I suggest," he says in a lower voice, "that you calm down. They are watching, and any acts of violence will not work in your favor."

_24-hour_ _surveillance. As if this place wasn't creepy enough. _I cannot see the cameras, but I know Ben's right. I try to sit up.

"Here," Ben tosses aside the blanket he's holding, "let me help you up."

"_Don't you dare touch me_," I threaten.

Ben recoils and has the nerve to look confused.

"When were you planning on saying something?" I ask. "Oh, by the way, you're my fiancé. Surprise!"

He blinks, seeming stunned. "Forgive me if I'm misunderstanding you, but it sounds like you're blaming me." I snort and Ben stands up. "I honestly don't believe what I'm hearing. You're _still _blaming me for something _you _did." He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "The council wanted to execute you," he whispers. "Did you know that? That's the law here."

"Then maybe you should have just let them kill me," I say through clenched teeth.

"Well," he says, sounding hurt, "I'm sorry to hear that death is a more preferable choice for you than marriage to me."

"This isn't about _you_, you egotistical maniac! I'm not going to marry you, or Richard, or Jacob, or a woman, or a freaking billy goat! I'm not going to marry _anyone_! What part of that don't you understand?"

Ben is silent, thinking. "And what do you think will happen to your friends from the beach once you're gone?" he asks. "As far as the council is concerned, they are just as much a threat to our way of life as you are. The only difference being they are an _unnecessary_ threat. What about Sawyer? Charlie? What about Claire?"

"You leave them alone or I'll—"

"Or you'll do what?" he whispers sharply. "You'll be dead! What will it matter what you think?"

I stare him down. "You wouldn't dare."

"I told you. I'm only one person, and leader is only a title." Ben exhales and kneels back down next to me. "I understand your reluctance."

"You don't understand a damn thing," I counter.

"I do, actually."

The first thing that pops into my head is _Todd told him_. But it's a baseless fear, because while Todd can understand Ben, Ben cannot understand Todd. I don't know why I can't seem to remember that. "Oh? And what is it that you understand?"

"Well," he starts, "unless you were lying to me all those years ago, I know quite a lot about you."

The more he tells me, the more confused I become. _What on earth had possessed me to tell him—as a child, no less—the horrible things that I put up with? _Maybe it was because he could empathize? I mean, that's why I never told anyone, right? Nobody would get it. My friends sure wouldn't have.

I guess in a way it feels good to know somebody else—someone human—knows.

"If it will help any, don't think of it as a marriage. Just think of it as a . . . permanent friendship," he suggests.

_Do not lash out. Do not lash out. Breathe. You're being watched. _"Permanent friendship," I echo unenthusiastically. "Todd was right."

"Oh, for God's sake, Cora." Ben shakes his head. "You're still listening to what he says? You are the greatest thing that ever happened to that fox. For the first time in his entire life he has a human that can understand him. I'm sure he's having the time of his life filling your head with whatever lies he can think of."

"I see you talking to him all the time."

"It's never to discuss _you_," Ben admits. "I made a deal with him about Alex. Whenever she's not within the community boundaries, Todd keeps an eye on her."

"And Carl?"

I catch the flash of annoyance in his expression. "And Carl. I'd just as soon send that boy off the island, but then Alex would never speak to me again."

"What about Juliet?" I ask. "Todd said you're keeping her here because of me."

Ben averts his gaze. "I . . . I admit that is the majority of the reason she is here, yes. When I was young, you were very vocal about your feelings towards children. When pregnant women started dying on the island, I brought Juliet here because I knew it's what you would have wanted."

I close my eyes and let my head slump back down against the ground. "It _is_ my fault she's here."

"She's getting very close to finding a cure," Ben adds enthusiastically. "If she keeps up her hard work, she'll be able to go home soon."

"Why is she the one that needs to find the cure? Can't you just bring in another fertility specialist to finish her research?"

"She is the best in the world," Ben proclaims. "I would settle for nothing less. If she cannot figure it out, I highly doubt a less qualified specialist will."

I'm instantly on the defensive. "Yesterday you asked me if I want children. Is that what all of this is about?" I remember what Todd had said the first time I spoke with him. He may be a pervert, but it looks like he had been right all along. "Is that what this wedding is really about? So you can have the legal freedom to knock me up whether I like it or not?"

Ben furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and then he understands my implication. "You insult me," he says quietly. The sincerity in his voice cuts me off. Without another word he's up and heading for the exit.

I swell with the overwhelming fear of abandonment. It's dark, and noisy, and cold, and the last thing I want is to be left alone. "Wait. Wait, Ben, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." He reaches the cage door and rests a hand on the lock. "You say you know so much about me," I say quickly. "Then you should already know I don't trust people. I have a tendency to think the worst of people. I'm sorry, It's just . . . I can't help it."

For what seems like eternity, Ben stands silently by the door, staring off into nothingness.

I feel stupid lying on the floor like this. "Can you at least help me up before you leave?"

Even before he makes a move, I know he will. He's too polite not to.

I can't help but observe him. He's wearing a pair of pressed slacks and a pale blue button-down collared shirt, as usual. It looks nice—clean. So much different from the men I've encountered in my lifetime—all baggy jeans and tasteless tattoos and speech all garbled with slang. It's refreshing to be pursued by someone well dressed and articulate. Even through the generous space between us, I can still smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. I don't know what it is, but every man in the world needs to wear it.

"Okay," I say when he helps me sit upright, "I understand that what I did was really stupid and reckless and against your rules. I'm ready to accept responsibility, and if that means I have to get married . . . then so be it."

Ben nods. "I'll tell the council your decision."

"So does that mean you can take these handcuffs off? My arm is cramping."

"I'm afraid not," he answers with a sigh. "There's still going to be an official trial tomorrow morning. They cannot be removed until then."

"Can you at least handcuff them in front of me? I can't sleep like this."

"That I can do," he answers, smiling.

Once my arms aren't twisted behind me, I try to rub my hands together to warm up.

"It's a little chilly tonight, so I brought you a blanket." He shakes it out a few times to get the dirt off, and then he drapes it over my shoulders.

The thickness of the material instantly cuts out the cold, and I pull it close around my neck. "Thank you." This small act of kindness makes it near impossible to stay angry. I hold out my handcuffed hands. "Friends?"

Ben claps one and shakes it.

"So, where are we, exactly?" I ask, surveying the cage. In the corner is the red button Sawyer pushed to receive a fish biscuit.

"An island a little ways off of the Mainland."

"Why didn't you guys just have my trial on the Mainland?" I ask. "Why was I brought here?"

"I'm about to show you," Isabel's throaty voice says from behind us. "Have you finished with your little visit, Benjamin? I'd like to speak with Cora alone, please."

I don't like Isabel. She scares me. The only memory I have to base her character off of is being handcuffed and whacked in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. One might say I'm not her biggest fan. And I definitely don't feel safe being near her, not to mention being _alone_ with her.

My hands instinctively reach for Ben's, and I whisper, "I don't want to talk to her alone."

Ben looks transfixed at our clasped hands, and then his eyes travel up to rest on me. "May I stay, Isabel?" he asks.

Isabel purses her lips, and then shrugs indifferently. "I don't see why not. You two are about to spend the rest of your lives together. What's five more minutes?"

. . . . .

Isabel, torch in hand, leads us through a mess of vines and brush that lead deep into the jungle. Ben walks beside me, a silent comfort.

"Do you know what DHARMA originally used this island for, Cora?" Isabel asks.

"Animal experimentation?"

"Precisely," she says, not sounding particularly impressed with my knowledge. "They called it the Hydra. DHARMA was particularly interested in psychological studies. That is why most of the animals on the island are known for their highly functioning brains."

_I guess that explains why Todd's here._

"And do you know why we have taken your case so seriously? Do you understand why Benjamin cannot simply throw your case out? Usually leaders have final say on a verdict, but you are a special case." Isabel stops walking at last and turns to look at me. The flames of her torch flicker across her face and cast eerie shadows. "Do you know why?"

"No," I answer.

"This is why." Isabel nods for me to walk forward. "This is what you are capable of."

We're standing at the edge of a deep hole. Tossed inside, piled up high, are the dead remains of dozens upon dozens of Hydra workers.


	15. I Do

**Things take a turn for the worst in this chapter. Buckle up. Characters we haven't seen yet are about to arrive.**

**Disclaimer: I might as well mention that I DO NOT own LOST, Tolkien's worlds, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Game of Thrones, or . . . well, any fandom, so don't sue me!**

DHARMA, 1975

_ School hasn't been the same since Miss Collins returned home to Los Angeles. Some people say she quit, but my dad says she got fired. Either way, I miss her a lot already. It's been exactly 8 months and 23 days since I last saw her. Our new teacher isn't anywhere near as interesting. Or pretty._

_ Miss McWilliams puts on an overly excited expression and claps her hands together. "Isn't this exciting? We're almost there!"_

_ Today my class is taking a field trip to the Hydra station on the little island offshore. I stand next to the railing on the big tugboat carrying us across the ocean. Annie places a hand on top of mine and squeezes excitedly. Her father works on Hydra island with the animals._

_ "One day I'm going to work there with my dad," she tells me._

_ I smile at the thought. Annie is smart enough to work anywhere, and her parents both have really important jobs. That's usually how you get picked to be anything special around here._

_ My dad's a Workman, which means I'll probably become a Workman too._

_ Miss Collins didn't think so, though. She got mad when I told her my fears about becoming a nobody like my dad. She told me I was plenty smart enough to become whatever I wanted to be. Well, she used a lot if curse words, but that's basically what she said._

_ 8 months and 23 days. I'm starting to forget the sound of her voice._

_ A Hydra worker greets us at the dock and gives us a tour of the facilities. First he takes us to the area where they train polar bears to test their memory. If they push levers in a certain order, they retrieve an orange fish flavored biscuit. Next he shows us the room where they conduct experiments on aquatic animals. We walk past tanks filled with dolphins, sharks, and penguins. After that we're lead to a room where they test birds of every color and shape, and lots of rabbits with little numbers on their hind legs._

_ I want to pay attention to the lecture, but all these animals are making me miss Miss Collins even more. She loved animals. Every Friday she used to bring animals into the classroom and teach us how to bond with them. Miss Collins wouldn't have approved of any of this._

_ There's a loud whirring noise, and then all the lights shut off. Students start screaming until the generator kicks in and lights the place back up with a dim yellow glow._

_ "Calm down, children," Miss McWillams says._

_ "Power plant must be having troubles," the Hydra worker says cheerfully. "No need to be alarmed."_

_ An echoing scream begins somewhere down the hall, and we all whip our heads in its direction. There's a violent barking, more screams, and then silence. Then the screaming begins again, closer this time._

_ "Everyone behind me!" Miss McWillams starts pulling my classmates behind her at random._

_ The Hydra worker starts stuttering something about getting a rifle when a whirling sound whooshes past us. The Hydra worker cries out and falls to the floor, a knife sticking out of his chest._

_ Miss McWillams has fainted._

_ A wolf charges at us from out of the darkness, blood dripping from his muzzle._

_ "Not them," a familiar voice commands, and the wolf takes a step back._

_ Annie clutches at my arm. She isn't the only one sobbing. I can see Susan's red, swollen face from here, wet with tears. Even the boys in my class, the boys who always pick on me, are crying. It makes me happy, because I'm not afraid._

_I don't know why she's here, but she is, and that makes me indescribably happy._

_ "It's nice to see you all again," says the voice, and the owner steps into the light._

_ It's Miss Collins, wide-eyed and twitchy. In her bloodied hands are a knife and a long piece of metal piping. Blood has splattered in thick dots on her face and all down her shirt. "Children," she announces, "you are going to want to stay here for the next few days. There's food in the refrigerator down the hall. I'll come back for you soon." She turns her attention to Miss McWillams, who shrinks away from her in fear. "Watch over them."_

_ Miss McWillams shakes her head violently. "Okay," she whispers._

_ "Come along, Brandon. We're not finished yet," Miss Collins calls sweetly, and the wolf pushes past us, following her down the poorly lit hallway._

. . . . .

"Cora June Collins—"

_Genocide._

"—you are charged with—"

_Genocide._

"—treason and conspiracy involving an animal. How do you plead?"

_I committed genocide. _

This may not be the worst day in my life, but it's made a special spot on my top 3. I don't think I've ever had more than a few people hate me at any given time. Now I'm staring into the faces of an entire courtroom full of people that would most likely prefer me dead. Apparently they have good reason to. I'm a hell of a lot crazier in the future than I can possible imagine.

_For the love of all that is holy . . . skinning polar bears and wearing their fur like a cape? Killing off an entire island full of people? What the hell was wrong with me?_

_ Why do I turn out like this?_

I take a steady breath and say, "Guilty."

The council is excused to debate their verdict in private, and I'm left seated at the front of the courtroom. Alex is in the front row, seated next to Carl. She smiles encouragingly at me and jabs an elbow into Carl's ribs, prompting him to mimic her show of support.

After a long awaited break, the council returns and delivers their pre-discussed verdict.

It's only when Alex looks genuinely surprised that I realize the general populace doesn't know what's going on. They think this verdict has only just been decided. They don't realize this formality is all for their benefit.

Ben slips a ring onto my engagement finger and all I can think of is that stupid SpongeBob episode where SpongeBob sings, "It's the best friends forever, best friends forever, ring!"

It's all so ludicrous. There really isn't anything else to do but laugh.

. . . . .

A thin strand of hair falls into my eyes, and I blow it away.

"Sorry," Juliet apologizes. Her thin, nimble fingers scoop up the hair and add it to the intricate braided hairdo she so adamantly insisted she create for me.

"I always thought I'd be doing this to one of my sisters," I tell her. "Getting them ready for their wedding."

When she finishes braiding, Juliet rests a gentle hand on the top of my head. It's such a motherly gesture that it makes me uncomfortable. "There," she offers me a smile, "It's all done."

I look at myself in the mirror for the first time since I returned to the mainland. Immediately upon arrival, I had myself a nice hot shower—well, after I called off Eddard and his pack, of course. True to their word, they had guarded the rec room all day and night. I offered him any favor he could think of in return, but he refused, claiming he was the one forever indebted to me.

Wolves.

My hair has dried since then, and the humidity has been tamed somewhat, thanks to Juliet's small braids that conjoin together across my temples and down my back. I turn my head from side to side to inspect the blonde crown of hair. I look like an elf. I wonder if that was the point.

Someone retrieved a few dresses from inside the closet of my old, creepy house, but nothing either fits right or is wedding appropriate. The only white garment I owned was the white animal skin cloak, which no one even bothered to retrieve for obvious reasons. I end up wearing kakis to my own wedding.

I insisted that Richard conduct the ceremony. Having it conducted by a fellow Catholic is the least they can do to appease me.

When the time arises for "you may now kiss the bride", I offer Ben a handshake instead. Our wedding is over in no time flat. I had anticipated a deep feeling of internal sorrow, something signifying my displeasure with having to go through with this, but honestly I don't feel any different.

It's like the anticipation of your birthday. You wait for it to approach, expecting to feel so much older and wiser, and then you don't end up feeling any different at all.

I haven't decided if this disappoints me or not.

. . . . .

I didn't want a reception, but that didn't stop all the women in the community from bringing food to Ben's house and forming their own social gathering. I wish Pumba were here to distract me, but he befriended a chicken and I haven't seen him since.

I don't know what's worse—the roomful of women, clucking like hens and offering me pseudo-smiles, or all the food they brought.

I can't tear my eyes away from it all. There isn't an inch of free space left in the kitchen. Chocolate cakes drizzled with even more chocolate, homemade sugar, chocolate chip, and gingerbread cookies, brownies and pastries and pastel coated cupcakes with little sugary sprinkles. I have to keep swallowing so I don't drool.

"Cora, may I be the first to temp you with a dessert?" A spindly woman with bright red lipstick advances on me like a bird of prey. She's holding out a plate with some sort of sickly-sweet strawberry cream cake on it. "I made this myself."

It's like I'm stuck in Dante's Inferno, and the nine layers of Hell are flavored with strawberries.

I open my mouth to say no, but then I want to say yes. I want to eat that cake and every other dessert in this house. The strawberries are oozing with jelly, and the frosting is glistening with tiny sugar crystals. I want it. My stomach growls loudly. "No thank you," I mumble miserably.

The woman brushes off my denial. "I insist. It's an old family recipe."

"No thank you," I repeat louder.

Ben is standing alone in the corner near his bookshelf, ignored by the chattering mass. He isn't making these women leave me alone, and it's starting to upset me. Why isn't he doing anything?

_Make them go away! _I try to tell him with my eyes.

Red-lipped woman spears a chunk of the strawberry perfection with a fork, and she offers it to me like a baby. "Just take one bite. Nobody can resist my baking."

_Eat it._

It's back. The voice I've heard all my life.

_What's one bite? You can take one bite._

No, I can't.

_Do it._

No.

_Do it, Cora._

I'm not listening to you anymore.

_Eat the cake._

Go away!

_EAT IT!_

"AGGGHH!" I scream, flailing my hand and knocking the fork clear across the room. The backside of my hand is speckled with frosting.

Instant silence.

I stay frozen in place, my trembling hand still in the air. Drops of sweat trail down from my hairline.

Ben, a small smile in place, has finally decided to step in. "Thank you all for your well wishes," he announces, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The woman with the red lipstick looks like she's about to cry. Everyone else just looks uncomfortable and confused.

"Now. Please." Ben makes his way across the living room and into the kitchen. "And please take your baked goods with you."

"But," says red lips, "they are our gifts."

"Cora and I are deeply appreciate of your thoughtfulness," he says kindly. "But if you do not take them with you, they will end up in the garbage, untouched."

The women slowly gather their food and file out of the house like a herd of dazed cattle.

"Why didn't you make them leave sooner?" I complain as soon as the front door shuts behind them.

"What good would that have done?" Ben scrapes a glob of frosting off the kitchen table with his finger and eyes it with a look of disgust. "I needed to hear you firmly refuse before stepping in. I can't fight all your battles."

"I'm just glad they're gone," I sigh, leaning back into the sofa. "Honestly, it's more annoying listening to a roomful of human females than it is to listen to a whole tree full of birds."

"Can you really blame them?" Ben washes the frosting off his finger and then takes a seat next to me, making sure to keep a good foot length of space between us. "I'm not going to pretend like I understand the female mind, but I think socialization is in your genetic code. And since this is arguably the most interesting thing to happen since Juliet's arrival, I understand why they went a little overboard. I'm guessing they're restless for something to talk about."

"Why don't you guys throw parties?"

"We have dinner parties," says Ben. "We have a bookclub, too."

I sit up straighter, excitement pumping through my veins. "Sign me up. What are you guys reading?"

"Currently? _Carrie._" Ben smirks. "Can't say I'm a fan, but it was Juliet's turn to host the club, and it happens to be her favorite book."

I rub my hands together in anticipation. "Hope you guys like Tolkien because I know what I'm picking when it's my turn."

Ben clears his throat and glances at me shyly from out of the corner of his eye. "I have a present for you," he says nonchalantly.

_What for? Oh. Right. Wedding gifts._ "Oh?"

"I'll go get it." Ben shoots up and hurries down the hall out of sight. He returns with a small shoebox. "Don't shake it," he warns. "It's very delicate."

As gently as I can I lift up the lid and pull aside the tissue paper. Inside the box is a single book. At the sight of it my heart breaks out in sporadic beats. "Is this—?"

Ben teeters excitedly at the edge of his seat. "The oldest surviving copy, as far as I know."

"I don't want to touch it." It would be just my luck to have it survive all these years just to decompose within my very hands.

"It's not _that_ delicate," Ben laughs.

The edges of the cover have some slight wear, and the illustrations on the cover are a few shades lighter with age, but besides that it's a perfectly intact copy of _The Hobbit_.

I lift it out of the box and lay it gently in my lap so I can admire it. I run my fingers over the stiff spine, caressing the cover, and the sides of the yellowed pages, barely applying any pressure for fear of destroying it. I probably look insane, but I couldn't give a crap. I love books like most people love money. In my lap I hold what was probably the only good thing to come out of my childhood.

Ben looks almost as excited as I feel, and then I remember I don't have a present for him. Careful to cradle the book back into its little shoebox home, I close the lid and set it in front of me on the living room table. "I'll um . . . I'll knit you something, sometime. I can make you a scarf if you want."

"You already have," he says cheerfully, leaving to retrieve it from somewhere down the hall.

It's the 4th Doctor's scarf from Doctor Who.

I start laughing, which in turn makes Ben laugh, which makes me laugh harder.

Time traveling Doctor.

Time traveling island.

It's funny.

"Do you even know what Doctor Who is?" I ask.

He makes a face. "Obviously. You made me watch them." Ben wraps the comically long scarf twice around his neck, and it still almost touches the floor. He returns to his seat next to me on the couch, a little bit closer this time. "I've tried watching the newer ones, but they just don't have the same charm." He smiles. "Nostalgic bias, I suppose."

I haven't been this giddy since my mother splurged one Christmas and bought me three brand new books from an actual bookstore. "Where did you get it?" I ask in amazement. "The book?"

Ben flits his eyes down to his hands. "You called me out earlier about leaving the island. I tracked it down on a trip to Europe. It was the one book I knew I needed in my collection." He looks back up at me. "It seems only right that you have it."

"Don't move," I order sternly. Ben practically turns to stone. Before I can second guess myself, I lean over and kiss his cheek.

I want to run. Not away from this situation, but just because I'm bursting at the seams with adrenaline. The notion is foreign to me. I never _want _to exercise. I force myself to do it because I'm trying to be healthier. Now it has a strange addictive quality.

When I pull away, Ben immediately turns to look at me, and our faces are suddenly very close. I can't break away from his eyes. Not that I want to. His scent is so faint today that I can't smell it unless I'm this close.

A loud thump sounds from down the hall.

"What was that?" I ask, blinking away my stupor.

"I don't know," Ben answers as he slowly makes his way to his feet. "Alex isn't home."

I'm drunk off adrenaline, so I take off towards the noise. Ben springs forward and grabs me around the waist to pull me back. "Yes, Cora, charge in unarmed. Excellent idea." He pulls a gun out of, literally, nowhere.

"What happened to fighting with bows and arrows?" I mock.

"You use bows and arrows exclusively," he quips. "I never said I did."

We make our way down the hall, listening for the noise. It's coming from Ben's room. The closet door jostles, so I pull it back while Ben takes aim. Eddard's little wolf pup is teething on one of Ben's dress shoes.

I pick him up by his scruff—startling him—and hold him in front of my face. "You're a little scamp, aren't you?"

"Please don't tell my father!" he begs. "I'm sorry I chewed the shoe, lady Cora, but my teeth hurt."

I sigh loudly as he stares at me with his sad little puppy eyes. "Sweetheart, if you need something to chew on, I can get you something that isn't going to be missed."

He whines nervously. "You're not going to tell on me?"

"As long as you promise to stop chewing up other people's belongings, then no, I won't tell."

"I promise!"

I set him back down just as Ben looks over my shoulder.

"My shoe!" Ben picks up what's left of the shredded black mess and cringes. "This was my best pair." He turns to the pup, who cowers behind my legs. "Was an electric shock not a good enough lesson for you? You had to go for round two?"

"He's teething," I explain. "He won't do it again."

"Well, he might as well have the other one." Ben tosses the shredded shoe's mate towards the door. "Here, take it and be gone."

"I'm going to go on a jog," I announce randomly.

Ben gives me a look. "Right now?"

"Yeah. Do you have a pair of shorts or something I can wear? These kakis aren't exactly workout material."

"Let me escort you, lady Cora." The little wolf paws at my pant leg. "For your kindness about the shoe, I shall be your bodyguard while you run!"

I squat down and pet his soft poufy fur. "I've just realized I don't know your name."

"Brandon," he barks.

"What does he want?" asks Ben.

"Brandon here has offered his protection while I'm on my jog." I'm trying very hard not to laugh. "I can't imagine the horrible things that might attack me from _inside _the confinements of the fence."

"Lizards!" Brandon interjects and head-butts my leg. "And birds! I'll scare them all away!" He lets out a puppy yelp-bark that roughly translates into _Warning!_

"He says I need to watch out for lizards," I tell Ben, who chuckles and shakes his head.

Ben digs around in his drawers to try and find something suitable for me to run in. "I need to let you know that I probably won't be here when you return from your run. I have business to conduct offshore."

"Should I know about said business? For, you know, future leadership tips or something?"

"It should be settled quickly," he assures me. "Just some last minute paperwork. Nothing for you to worry about for now." He glances up at me and smiles. "Enjoy your run. We'll start training again when I return."

It hits me hard, deep within my chest, and I don't know why. A painful sadness washes over me at the thought of him leaving. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment is back. I try to will the ridiculous thought away, but it won't budge. _Stop being creepy, Cora. It's not like he's never coming back. _"When will you be back?" I blurt out.

Ben studies my face before answering, and I can feel myself reddening. "A day or two. Three at the most." He returns to the contents of his dresser. "You're not going to miss me, will you?"

"I'll starve here without you." My eyes start going crazy, landing on everything in the room. "I don't know how to cook vegetarian food."

"Alex does. If you ask politely, she'll make all your meals. She might even take the time to teach you. She likes you."

I take a seat at the edge of his bed and immediately scrunch my eyebrows in shock. It's so comfortable that it makes me annoyed that I've been sleeping on the old sofa in the living room. "Would it be okay if I sleep in here until you get back?" I ask. "The couch is throwing my back out."

Ben looks up, distress in his eyes. "I was unaware that the sofa impaired your sleep. Please, take my room. I'll sleep on the sofa when I return."

I wish he would hurry up and find some shorts because I don't think I can blush anymore than I already am.

_Am I really going to kick him out of his own room?_

_Yeah, I am._

"This is the best I can do," Ben announces, handing me a pair of navy blue swim trunks. His fingers linger on mine. "Enjoy your run. Watch out for lizards."

_Say something. Stop staring and say something, Cora. _All I say is, "Okay."

After I change into the swim trunks, I set out to find Eddard. Brandon proudly explains to his father about his sudden devotion to my safety.

"I'll watch over him," I whisper to Eddard when Brandon becomes preoccupied with attacking a particularly long blade of grass.

We set off into the edges of the Barrack homes, towards the trees that lead to the grassy field where I train. I can feel the adrenaline flowing through my veins, feeding my legs and allowing me to run faster than usual. I don't even bother to try and pace myself, I just take off.

Brandon gallops alongside me, yipping excitedly.

I stop only when I've reached the point of exhaustion. Brandon climbs onto my stomach when I find a nice resting place under a tree near the fence. I've made it quite a ways away from the Barracks. I'm a lot farther out than where I usually train, which takes a good fifteen to twenty minuets to reach at a walking pace. I smile at the fact that I don't feel hungry.

I dose off.

_In my dream I'm still sitting at the edge of Ben's bed, watching him search for shorts._

_ "When will you be back?" I blurt out._

_ Ben studies my face before answering, and I can feel myself reddening. "A day or two. Three at the most." He returns to the contents of his dresser. "You're not going to miss me, will you?"_

_ "I will," I answer._

_ He wasn't expecting that, and to be honest neither was I. _

_ "I will miss you too," he says._

_ In the blink of an eye he's pushed me down against the bed, and I let him. People are getting married at my age, and I've never even kissed someone before. I close my eyes and wait for something to happen._

"Cora!" Brandon alerts, pouncing on my chest. "It's a stranger!"

I leap up, blinking away the grogginess, expecting to find someone about to attack. Instead I find a child standing dangerously close to the outside of the sonic fence. It's a little boy, his golden hair sopping wet with blood. He stares blankly at us through the invisible barrier, unblinking.

"Hello? Sweetheart? Hey, can you hear me?" I hold out my hands, palm up, and try to speak as kindly as I can manage. "Just stay right here, okay? I'm going to go get help. Just stay right here, honey. Okay? _Right here_. Don't move."

I trip over my own feet as I spin around and break into a sprint back towards the houses, fueled by the adrenaline rush of my dream. By the time I return I'm so out of breath I can't explain myself. Sawyer tries to help steady me to get an answer, but all I can do is cough.

"What, did you see a ghost or something?" Sawyer helps hold me up as I try to speak.

"Where is . . ." I pant, cough, pant. "Where is . . ."

"He's gone," Juliet answers before I can finish.

"Where did . . . he go?" I manage to say.

Juliet shrugs. "What do you need? I may be able to help."

"The combination . . . for the fence," I say.

"Yes, I know it," she says. "Why do you need it?"

"I saw a little boy . . . in the jungle. He's hurt."

"Where?" Juliet asks, suddenly straightening and seeming interested. I guess we share the same protective instincts.

"I've got you, Doublemint," Sawyer assures. He tosses my arm over his shoulders to help me keep up. "Lead the way."

"Stay here, Brandon," I order sternly.

"I can't, lady Cora," he barks. "I'm not done protecting you."

"Brandon, you stay here or I'll tell your father what you did."

He hunkers down to the ground and scampers away.

With Sawyer's help the three of us quickly arrive back at the fence.

"Where's the kid?" Sawyer releases me and starts pacing the length of the fence, scanning the trees.

I put my face in my hands. "I told him to stay right here! His head . . . it was covered in blood! He's delirious! He must have wandered off!"

Juliet squats down to punch in the numbers to shut off the fence. "He can't be far."

"Lady Cora!" A gruff voice yells from behind us.

I turn to find Eddard and another wolf approaching. "Eddard?"

He gallops over to my side and taps my hand with his nose. "Brandon told me about the human. Allow us to aid in your search." He nods to the wolf beside him. "This is my wife, Catelyn."

"Thank you for your help. . . again," I say.

"Is Scooby-Doo and Scrappy here gonna help us sniff out the kid?" Sawyer asks.

I shoot him a look. "Yes, Sawyer. Eddard and his wife have very graciously offered to help us. You'd be wise not to anger them."

"I smell more than one human." Eddard sniffs the air, the ground, the air again. "Three humans. They smell young." He looks up at me. "They smell like fear."

"I don't know how many children there are, or if they're all together," I tell Sawyer and Juliet. "Eddard says he can smell at least three. We can cover more ground if we split up."

"I'll take werewolf number two," Sawyer says, pointing a finger at Catelyn. "You ladies can keep Mr. Testosterone."

"Do you approve of splitting up?" I ask Eddard.

"If you think it is best," he answers.

Sawyer and Catelyn head towards the left side of the jungle, while Juliet, Eddard and I head right.

Eddard sniffs the ground. His ears perk up once, then he returns to the scent. Juliet and I follow him into the trees. A curious bird asks his friend what we're doing, and the two birds discuss the oddities of humans.

And then Eddard stops. "Humans," he alerts in a low voice. "Many humans. They are close, lady Cora."

"_It's a wolf!_" someone screams in the distance. A popping echo bellows throughout the jungle, reverberating off the trees. A second gunshot goes off, and my head gets light.

_No, no, no, no, no!_

"Sawyer!" I scream, taking off towards the sounds. Juliet tries to grab hold of me, but the adrenaline rush is back and I charge forward into the trees, full of fear.

I crash through a tangle of vines to find Sawyer sprawled out in the dirt, clutching desperately to his bloody shoulder. Catelyn is panting next to him in a pool of blood pouring out of her stomach.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no," I babble.

"Hands up!" It's Ana Lucia and the gun that killed Shannon in season two. "I said put your hands up!" she screams at me. A whole group of frightened survivors are standing huddled behind her like sheep.

"Catelyn!" Eddard rushes in from behind me and stands by her side.

"Another wolf!" a women yells. "Kill it, Anna!"

Eddard emits an enraged snarl. "I'll kill you first, human!"

Juliet is tossed forward from behind me. I turn around and see Mr. Eko brandishing his scripture club. There is no escape. "Eddard," I say quickly, "get out of here! Go back and tell Todd what's happened."

"Not until I rip open this woman's throat!" he snarls.

"Think of your son," I tell him. "Think of Brandon. You're all he has left now. Go back home and tell Todd what happened before you get shot too! Run!"

"Lady Cora—"

"THAT'S AN ORDER, EDDARD!" I scream.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Anna asks angrily.

"Go, Eddard," I hear Catelyn whine softly. "Go."

Eddard hesitates for the briefest of moments before darting towards me, past Mr. Eko, and back into the jungle, headed towards the Barracks.

I drop down to Sawyer's side to check his wound. "Sawyer," I gasp at the sight of so much blood. It's my mother all over again.

Mr. Eko lifts me up with one arm and throws me over his shoulder. I start screaming for help, but it does me no good. I'm tossed down into a deep pit, Juliet following closely afterwards. Her shoulder makes impact with the ground first.

Her screams do not sound human.

"Juliet?" I crawl forward to try and help.

"My shoulder," she cries out. "It's dislocated. I need you to—"

I've already set it with a loud pop.

Juliet relaxes. "Thank you," she breathes. "Thank you. How did you know what to do?"

"I was going to be a nurse," I explain.

Sawyer is tossed down last. I crawl over to him.

Anna looks down at us from the edge of the pit. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Survivors of Oceanic 815," I yell. _If they have a manifest, we'll need names that were on it. _"My name is Kate Austin, and this is Claire Littleton and James Ford. We crashed on the beach. We were scouting the area for survivors." My throat gets choked up. "You shot my dog. Where is she?"

Mr. Eko and Anna are conversing in low voices. "She's dead," Anna decides to answer. "And that wasn't a dog, that was a wolf. How'd you get a wolf on the plane?"

I look at Sawyer's sweaty face and begin to cry. "Please, he needs a doctor! Let us go, and we can take you to our doctor! He's not far from here!"

Mr. Eko tugs on the lid they've made for the pit, and I become frantic with pleas. The lid closes down on us, shutting out the light.

**Thank you all for the love and support you've shown! I never expected to have so many people interested in this story. I started writing it for the LOLZ and it is now the length of a novel! MADNESS! Thank you to all who read and review! You guys are seriously awesome :)**


	16. Of Monsters and Mice and Men

I stopped screaming about the same time I stopped trying to climb my way out of this hole. A random jungle shower has softened the sides into a slippery mud slope that's impossible to climb. I plop down on the ground with a splash and let the rain drip its way through the cracks in the roof and soak right through my clothes.

Juliet sits slumped against the corner of our dark confinement, wincing while nursing her painful shoulder injury. Sawyer has regained consciousness, thankfully. He sits slumped against the opposite side of the hole. I sit in the middle, feeling more miserable with each drop of rain that drips down on me.

Sawyer begins to laugh, low and throaty.

"What's so funny?" I snap at him.

"I'm gonna die in a hole in the middle of the damn jungle." He leans back against the muddy wall and laughs harder. It might mostly be because of his wound. "I had a house and food and a working toilet just a few hours ago, and now I'm gonna die soaking wet and bleeding out in a _damn hole!_"

"Be quiet, James." Juliet scowls at him. "Your tantrum isn't helping any."

Sawyer scoops up a handful of mud and flings it at her. "How about _you_ be quiet, Snow Queen? I'm not the one who was biting at the bit to go rescue some kid!"

Juliet wipes the mud from her face. "Very mature, James," she says, annoyed. "As I recall you were more than happy to help Cora search. We didn't make you come with us."

I bring my hand up to my ears and scream, "WOULD YOU TWO JUST _SHUT UP_?" They fall silent, so I can talk softer. "Stop wasting your energy bickering and think of a way for us to get out of here." I turn to Sawyer and study his face. He's good at hiding it, but his breathing is more labored than usual.

"Don't you cry for me," he complains. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, for God's sake, would you get over yourself?" I snap. "Juliet, what do we do about the bullet?"

"Nothing," she answers. "If you try to take it out now, it could become infected. We have to wait until we have some disinfectants."

"And when will that be?" I ask. "Who knows how crazy these people are? They've been out here for, what—how long has it been since the crash?"

"Eighteen days," says Juliet. "I think."

_What? Have I completely lost track of time? How could it already be eighteen days? Maybe I lost track of time when I was delirious with my head injury. _"Eighteen days," I echo. "These people from the tail section have been here for eighteen days without a steady supply of food or shelter. I don't even know if they have any weapons other than Anna's handgun—speaking of which, we don't even know if it has anymore bullets in it."

"Hey," a friendly voice calls to us from between the vines in the trap door. I can just make out Libby's face in the pale light. "Are you guys hungry?"

"Let us out!" Sawyer yells. "Let us out of here, you crazy bitch!"

Libby's face disappears, and I shout, "Wait, please, come back! Come back! Great. Thanks a lot, Sawyer. That was really helpful."

The three of us fall back into silence just as the rain finally stops. I listen to the conversations of what I'm guessing are birds, but they aren't very informative.

"I can't believe this," I blurt out. "We really are going to die in a ditch."

"Ben will find us," Juliet says assuredly.

I give her an annoyed glare. "How do you know that?"

"Because you're here." She adjusts herself in her muddy seat. "After everything he's done to help you, I don't know why you even have to ask. Besides, it's only a matter of time before Eddard and the rest of the wolves show up for revenge."

I rub at my temples, guilt settling in. "I don't know why I let . . . I don't know why I . . . why do they do everything I say? It just . . . it doesn't make sense. One of them is dead now because I asked for their help."

"But you didn't ask for their help," Juliet whispers back kindly. "They offered help, and you accepted it. It worked out just the way it was supposed to."

Something about that sounds odd. I look up at her and ask, "What do you mean _the way it was supposed to_?"

Juliet stares at me, blankly. "You don't honestly think Goodwin would be sick enough to taser a puppy just for chewing up a stupid shoe, do you? He only did it because Ben ordered him to."

"Why?"

"The one species you need on your side are the wolves. That's apparently what you said once." She leans back against the mud and tenderly tries to roll her shoulder. "Ben thought this was the quickest way for you to form a bond with them."

"Or, here's a thought, I could have just befriended them on my own," I hiss.

"He wanted them to be indebted to you," she whispers. "Favors are what make our community function for both humans and animals. Everyone owes somebody else. Your word is your bond. You break it . . . well, nobody has been stupid enough to try it, yet."

I think back to that day when poor Eddard was on trial for protecting his pup, Brandon. Ben had seemed sincerely troubled about the incident, so I thought that he was. He manipulated me, and I hadn't the slightest idea.

Sawyer chuckles at the look on my face. "That son of a bitch," he says.

I sit motionless for what seems like eternity, stewing over what else that's happened. What else has been elaborately orchestrated? What else hasn't been real?

. . . . .

I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake up covered in mud.

"Morning, Sunshine," Sawyer crows. His face is paler than yesterday. I try to check his wound, but he won't let me near him.

The sun is shining high in the sky when I start to scream again.

"Be quiet, or I shoot," Anna threatens.

Anna Lucia. She was a cop who was shot while pregnant, which resulted in the loss of her unborn child. If I remember correctly, she's a trigger-happy loner who never smiles and dies with an everlasting grudge. Wonderful.

"Can we at least have some food?" I yell.

"I said _be quiet_," she yells back.

I sit back down in a soggy mud puddle and put my face in my hands. All I can think about is food. My stomach is clawing itself to pieces, grumbling so loudly I don't doubt Anna can hear it. I haven't eaten anything in 24 hours. I can remember the last time that happened—never.

One more enormous growl from my stomach, and I force myself to my feet. "You have to give us something! Please! Anything! I'll take a single slice of papaya at this point!"

I get a rock thrown at my head.

. . . . .

I wake up the next morning lightheaded and confused. Instead of an insatiable hunger, I now beg the skies to open wide and deliver me some water before I die of thirst. When I open my mouth to yawn, my dried up lips crack open and warm blood drips down my cheek.

Juliet has purple rings under her eyes. Sawyer is pale and sweaty and unresponsive.

No.

I refuse to die this way.

I refuse to die in a ditch.

In my frustration, I look up at the roof, but I can't see anyone. "Where's the little boy?" I ask loudly.

Just as I hoped, Anna has been standing nearby, listening. "What little boy?" she asks.

"I saw a little boy run into the jungle not too far from here. Have you seen him? His head was covered in blood. I don't know if it was his, though." I strain to see through the cracks in the trap door, but Anna is purposely staying out of sight. "Have you seen him?" I continue. "Is he okay?"

"How old is he?" she questions.

"He looked five or six. Blonde. In shock."

"I haven't seen him." For some reason the way she says it makes me feel that she's telling the truth. "Is he your kid?"

"No," I answer truthfully. "I don't even know his name."

"We'll keep an eye out," she promises.

My stomach growls loudly, pinching and pulling and causing me pain. I've just realized I haven't eaten anything since the light breakfast I had before the wedding. "Hello?" I call. "Anna, are you still there?"

"What?"

"Do you have any food? Water? We haven't eaten in days."

"Tell you what," she says. The trap door is pulled up, shining light down at us. The three of us shield our eyes. "You come up here and answer all my questions, and then you can have some of our food and water. Deal?"

"Don't, Cora." Sawyer reaches out and grabs hold of my arm. "We stay together."

"It's a bad idea," Juliet confirms.

"I'll do it," I say. _How else are we going to get out of here?_

Someone tosses down a vine rope, and I cling weakly to it as I'm hoisted up into the sunlight. Mr. Eko grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me the remainder of the way up.

Anna is quick to tie me to a tree.

"What was your name again?" she asks, giving the vine rope around my waist one final tight tug.

"Kate Austin," I say. "Do you have a manifest you can confirm?"

"No," she says.

_Well, then. What a waste of a perfectly good lie. Now I'm going to have to pretend like my name is Kate. Or . . ._ "I go by my middle name, though. Cora."

"Right," Anna says, searching my eyes for something. "So, Cora, who are your two friends?"

_Since I've already lied about Juliet's name, I go along with my lie._ "Claire Littleton and James Ford. We were all survivors of Oceanic 815. We crashed on the beach and made camp there."

"How far from here?"

"About a day's walk," I lie. I have no idea what I'm talking about. "We can take you there. Please," I beg, "James needs a doctor. We have a doctor. Jack Shepard. He can help any of your people if they're hurt."

I watch a Libby approach Anna from behind. "Let's go, Anna," she says softly. "Paul needs a doctor, too."

"Back up," Anna warns. "We're not going anywhere until I get answers."

"I'm so thirsty." My head lolls forward. "Can I please have some water?"

Anna pulls out a canteen, and I lean my head towards it in anticipation. She takes a swig, and then places it at her feet, out of reach.

_You are so not one of my favorite characters._

Two children, a little boy and a little girl, huddle behind Libby. "You guys have children?" I ask in dazed amazement. "Are they the only two?"

"Do you always conduct search parties without bringing supplies?" Anna asks, ignoring my question.

"What?"

"Why didn't you bring anything with you to go searching for the kid," she says slowly, the way you would speak to a child. "You just told me your camp is about a day away from here. Why would you go on such a long excursion without bringing supplies? Water? Food? A tarp?"

_Think, think, think. _I stare at the canteen and drift off into thoughts of gulping cool water and eating as many papayas as I can find.

"How did you get two wolves on our flight?" she prods.

Oh, no. My dehydrated brain is frazzled, and it's only becoming more frazzled now that Mr. Eko is standing so close. He looks murderous, pounding the wooden scripture club unto the palm of his hand.

Anna leans in close. "Why are you lying to us?"

"I'm not," I lie pathetically.

"Who are you really?" Anna asks forcefully. "Who are you?"

I close my eyes in fear when she pulls out her gun and places the cold metal against my forehead.

"Anna, stop it!" I hear Libby yell.

Once my eyes are close, something dawns on me. "Why is it so quiet?" I say to myself, opening my eyes out of curiosity.

"What?" Anna asks, pulling the gun away and looking around.

The birds—the same birds that are _always _gathered in the trees overhead, laughing and talking and gossiping galore—are now completely silent. I don't even hear bugs whizzing in the distance. I don't hear anything but my own breath.

Right when it dawns on me what this could possibly mean, it happens. A mechanical roar echoes somewhere in the distance, and my body begins to shiver because I'm too dehydrated to break out in a sweat.

I always thought it was funny that the smoke monster sounded like a roller-coaster ascending on a track, but now nothing has ever been less funny.

"Untie me," I beg, panicked, thrashing at my constraints. "For the love of God, please untie me!"

Anna looks around in complete confusion. "What was that?" she asks, aiming her gun in the direction of the noise.

One second she's standing in front of me, and the next second she's flying through the sky as splintered wood rains down on my head. I scream and shut my eyes so tight I see purple.

Horrible, horrible noises continue for the next thirty seconds. Trees are split in two, uprooted from the earth and crashing down hard all around me. I can hear people screaming over the roar of the monster. I keep my eyes closed while I tremble, helpless to even run away.

I crack my eyes open when the noises stop, and the low rumbling of the smoke monster is instantly inches from my face. In its mass I see snippets of my life—none of them pleasant—but for some reason I cannot look away. There's a series of blinding white flashes, and then the monster retreats into the trees with one final roar.

"Cora?" Sawyer's worried voice wafts up from out of the hole. "Cora? Cora, where are you?"

"I'm okay!" My voice crackles with laughter. "I'm alive!"

"What happened?" he yells. "Where are you?"

"I'm tied to a tree!" Just as I yell this, a little brown field mouse goes running full speed in front of me. "Excuse me, miss? Miss! Little mouse!" Thankfully the mouse pauses and looks at me. "Please, I beg you. Can you chew away at these vines? I will be forever indebted to you! I promise you any favor you wish! _Please_!"

"Why should I trust you?" she squeaks, already resuming her run.

"My name is Cora," I tell her, "and I am the island's Animal Ambassador. I'm in charge of keeping the peace for all animals, no matter how small."

"A human who speaks mouse?" She scurries over and climbs onto my leg, seeking shelter in my shirt pocket. "My babies are hiding nearby. We have been traveling for days in search of food. That monster in the sky just uprooted our temporary home, and now I'm searching for a new one. There are so many birds watching us it is hard to travel safely. If I free you, please help my babies find a place to stay. Somewhere with food. We haven't eaten in so long!"

"If you free me, I'll let you all travel in my pockets back to my home. You can have all the food you can eat!"

The little mouse sniffs at my clothes—well, Ben's clothes—and says, "You have a deal."

"Thank you Miss, uh, what's your name?"

"Mrs. Brisby," she squeaks, and leaps out of my pocket.

"Of course it is," I say. "I should have seen that coming."

Mrs. Brisby nibbles away at the vines, stopping every few seconds to look around for birds. "I'll keep an eye out for you," I tell her.

It's slow going—very slow going—but eventually the vines are weakened enough for me to pull the rest of them off by myself. "Thank you," I say, scooping up Mrs. Brisby and depositing her in my pocket. "Where are your babies hiding?"

I seek out the rock Mrs. Brisby guides me to, but when I lift it up, the baby mice take one look at me and start fleeing in every direction.

"No!" Mrs. Brisby shrieks. "Come back, my babies! It's me!"

I try to grab one and it bites me. "Ow!" I yell.

"Don't bite!" Mrs. Brisby cries. "Children, please! The human is going to bring us to shelter! Come back, or you will be eaten! Remember papa!"

One by one, the frightened mice return, sniff my fingers, and then hop into my hand. I add them, a total of four little brown puffs, to my shirt pocket with their mother. I stumble back to the pit where Juliet and Sawyer are still trapped, but the lid is too heavy for me to lift on my own, and I only succeed in shifting it slightly. "I'll look for something to pull you out with!" I tell them.

"Hurry!" Juliet yells. "Before that thing comes back!"

But I have a feeling the smoke monster is done with us for today. It let me live. That has to mean something.

Anna's canteen is still sitting, untouched, next to where I was tied up. I fall to my knees and gulp it greedily. Thankfully, I stop myself before I completely finish it off, and I toss the remainder down to Sawyer and Juliet.

"Who is papa?" I ask Mrs. Brisby as I search for the vine rope Anna Lucia used to pull me out of the pit with.

"My husband. He was eaten by a bird," she weeps in a string of untranslatable squeaks. "Along with all my other children! I had ten little ones. Now only four remain."

A tiny nose peeks out of my pocket and one of the babies squeaks, "Are you really going to bring us food?"

"I am." They cheer, and I can't help but smile. "What are your names?"

"Cynthia," she says.

"And I'm Martin," says another.

"And I'm Timothy," says another.

"And I'm Teresa," says another.

"It's nice to meet you all."

Somewhere close by a woman is moaning in pain. I set off in search of the sound, and I stumble upon the remains of Anna Lucia. I bring a hand up to my mouth, almost falling backwards at the sight of her. Her face is streaked with blood, and there's a long jagged piece of splintered wood sticking out of her chest. I kneel beside her and my hands hover over her injuries, not sure what to do or where to start.

Her mouth opens to say something, but instead she just coughs up a mouthful of blood. All I can do is stare.

Her eyes lock with mine and something in them begs me not to leave, so I place a hand on her shoulder. It takes forever and no time at all for her to die. She never looks away from me—not even after her eyes have glossed over with death.

I've never seen a human die before. I've seen pain and suffering enough to last me a lifetime, but I've never seen death.

I close her eyes before I leave.

"I am sorry about the human," Mrs. Brisby apologizes.

"Yeah," I say. "Me Too." I feel sick.

"You are talking to a mouse," Mr. Eko's deep voice booms.

I spin around and place a protective hand over my pocket. I'm not entirely sure if it's a question or not. "Yes?" I answer. "Where are the rest of your people?"

"Gone," he answers.

"Oh," I say, because I don't know what else to say.

"I will help get your friends out of the pit," he states in his thick Nigerian accent. Without another word, he heads towards the pit.

I don't know what just happened, so I follow behind him.

True to his word, Mr. Eko throws back the lid with one arm and checks to make sure Juliet and Sawyer are still inside. "Give me just a moment," he says. "I will make a rope to pull you out." Mr. Eko beckons for me to follow him, but I don't think the choice is actually mine.

When we've found a tree with strong enough vines, Mr. Eko pulls a blade out from his waistband, and I take a step back as he saws away. "I'd like to have a word with you," he says.

"Okay."

"The first day on the beach, I was dragged into the jungle by two men." One of the vines snaps free and he tosses it aside. "I killed these men. Smashed in their heads with a stone. Felt their blood on my arms."

He's so calm and serious that I don't know what to say. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You lied to Anna. You are one of them, no?" he asks.

I don't bother denying it.

"I want you to know how deeply sorry I am about killing your people," he continues. "I want you to know that I am on a righteous path now." Mr. Eko tosses the last of the vines in a pile at his feet. He turns to me with the knife, reaches up to his chin, and slices off the two little beard braids.

"Are we in danger?" Mrs. Brisby asks from inside my pocket. "Your heartbeat has quickened."

But Mr. Eko has already sheathed his knife and is dragging the thick vines back to the pit.

_Lord almighty._

Juliet is first to be hoisted up out of the pit. When Sawyer comes crawling up, he's almost too weak to stand. Mr. Eko throws him over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sawyer is less than thrilled. "Which way to your camp?" Mr. Eko asks.

I glance at Juliet for directions, but she's busy gaping at Mr. Eko. I nudge her in the ribs. "This way," she answers vaguely and takes off into the trees.

"Wait," I call to her, and she stops. "The children that were here. They may be near. I want to bring the survivors back with us."

Mr. Eko, who has the loudest voice in the group by a long shot, and who also knows both children by name, shouts for them. "Hello? Emma! Zach! Where are you? Can anyone hear me?"

By the fifth time, Juliet is ready to leave, but then suddenly a little boy, Zach, wanders towards us from out of the jungle. He's followed closely by a little girl, Emma, and one of the stewardesses from the plane. _Oh, I know her name. I know it!_ But I keep it to myself and allow them to introduce themselves—Cindy, Zach, and Emma.

We're a lot farther out than I originally thought. I thought we had only gone a quarter of a mile or so from the Barracks, but we walk for an eternity.

"How much farther to your camp?" Cindy asks. She has her arms draped over the children, keeping them close.

_This place looks familiar._ "Where's Catelyn?" Blood is still splattered on the mossy floor, so I know this is where she was shot. "Where is her body?" My search of the surrounding area proves barren, and I begin to panic. "I need her body. The wolves will want it buried. Oh, they're going to be furious is something dragged her away!"

Juliet continues on without us. She's been especially quiet ever since the smoke monster attack. I wonder if this was the first time she's ever encountered it, or even heard of it at all. I have no choice but to follow her back to the fence.

. . . . .

Everyone is frantic when we return. I c_an't leave for 24 hours without everything going to Hell. _It isn't long before someone explains what's going on.

Harper approaches me, never even glancing at Juliet. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Trapped in a ditch," I answer.

She catches sight of Mr. Eko and widens her eyes. "Who is this?"

"The name's Sawyer," Sawyer says from his spot atop Mr. Eko's shoulder. "I believe we've met."

"Another survivor," I tell Harper. "What's going on?"

"Goodwin is dead," she says flatly.

I hear Juliet gasp beside me, and then she pushes past and walks into the crowd.

"What happened?" I ask.

Harper glares at Juliet's retreating figure. "The one they call Sayid happened."

"But . . . _what_?" I splutter. _He was unarmed and handcuffed to a window!_

"I wasn't there, but Goodwin was scheduled to keep guard during lunch. He got too close during feeding time. Got his neck snapped." Harper sneers. "They're animals—the whole group of them. The only one even remotely useful to us is Jack, and he refuses to speak to anyone. But it doesn't matter," she says with an air of satisfaction. "Sayid is scheduled for execution tomorrow morning. It will only be a matter of time before the rest will follow."

"Where is she?" Ben's angry voice yells from somewhere behind me.

I spin around and practically slam into him. He takes a hasty step back and frowns. Then he notices it's me.

I had forgotten I was covered in mud.

"You're alive." His hand travels up to touch my face, but at the last second he pulls away. "Why are you filthy? And—" He cranes his neck to look at Mr. Eko, who still has Sawyer draped over his shoulder. "—who is this?"

"My name is Mr. Eko."

"It's a long story," I say.

"I look forward to your explanation, but for now we don't have time for long stories." Ben's tone grows serious again. "Where is Juliet?"

"She went over there." I point at the crowd. Ben takes off with a fierce determination, so I reach out and grab his arm. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Cora, go home and take a nice hot shower." And with that he tugs his arm out of my grasp.

. . . . .

Ben made tea to—and I quote—"calm his nerves" after hearing my retelling of what happened, but it doesn't seem to be working. He takes a sip and then brings down the cup too hard and it clacks against the glass plate. After about ten minutes of him sipping and clacking, sipping and clacking, silently formulating some kind of plan, he decides to speak up. "The wolves are missing."

_Oh great. _"Where did they go?"

"If I knew the answer to that," he says sarcastically, "I wouldn't be drinking tea, now would I?"

"Sorry," I mumble.

Mrs. Brisby and her four children are happily nibbling away on a slice of bread, a dollop of peanut butter, and a grape. I've also set a warm bowl of water on the floor for them so they can bathe. Every once in a while one of the babies gives me a tiny squeak of gratitude before returning to the task of stuffing its face. I wonder how long it has been since they've eaten.

Ben made me a sandwich when he returned from verbally scorning Juliet for letting me go beyond the fence without his permission. I would have made a sexist joke about the sandwich if he wasn't so angry.

Ethan has been working on cleaning out and treating Sawyer's wound. He says he will make a full recovery, but it still makes me sick with worry. So sick, in fact, that even after not eating for over 24 hours, a sandwich was all I could stomach.

Ben lets out an annoyed sigh. "None of this is turning out the way you said it would."

_Curse my future self for being such an incompetent Timelord. _"What are you going to do about Mr. Eko?"

"He can stay until I can arrange for him to be released back beyond the fence to find his people."

"Why can't he stay here?"

Sip, clank. "Pardon?"

"I said why can't he stay? He saved Juliet and Sawyer's life when I couldn't. That has to count for something."

"Yes, and he's also a complete stranger who has been wandering around the jungle for almost a month." Sip, clank. "I'm not betting on his mental stability."

"Okay," I relent, "so Mr. Eko has to leave. What about the rest of your prisoners? What are you going to do with them?"

"I'm still deliberating."

_Wait a second._ "But . . . weren't their names on a list? The lists you get from Jacob?"

He doesn't even bother to ask how I know that. "The only name I've ever received from Jacob was yours." Ben brings the teacup up to his mouth, looking pensive. "Which of course confused me to no end. You being dead and all."

_What? That can't be right. There were tons of characters from the crash that were on Jacob's list. Jack. Kate. Hugo. Locke. Sun and Jin. Tons of characters! _"Nobody else? Nobody? Nobody from Oceanic 815? _Nobody?_"

"If you think asking the same question multiple times will produce a different answer, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

_Not even Hugo? Hugo is supposed to end up as the island leader. The new Jacob! Who is supposed to be the new Jacob?_

_ It can't be me. I'm supposed to die._

I'm almost too afraid to ask. "What are you going to do with Sayid?"

Ben raises an eyebrow at me. "You look like you have a suggestion."

"Let Sayid leave. Let him go home on the submarine. You can let Juliet leave at the same time, and then everyone's happy and no one is dead!"

"I can tell you right now that's not going to happen. I've already decided what to do with them. I've sent out a scout to locate the rest of the survivors from the beach. Once their location has been confirmed, they will be reunited."

My eyes narrow at this information. "You just told me you were still deliberating."

"Ahhh," he stammers, "yes, well. That wasn't . . . entirely true. My apologies."

"So, you're bringing the survivors here?" _The more people protected by the fence, the better._

"Of course not," he says. "They will be free to leave and reunite themselves."

"You're _banishing_ them?" I leap up from my seat on the sofa. "You can't do that! They'll die out there!"

Ben looks up at me with a curious expression. "Why do you feel the need to defend them when they obviously have no attachment to you?"

_Because I know what they're really like. I know their temperaments even better than they do. Because all of this is partially your fault. Because they're human beings and I don't want them to die!_ "You're infuriating!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I've made my decision."

"Get your backpack," I order, turning away to retrieve my own.

"For what?" he questions, already half out of his seat.

"I'm sick of this. Nobody is going to die because of lack of communication. Not on my watch!" I begin throwing food at random into my bag.

Ben follows me over to the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"We're going to have a nice long chat with Jacob," I say furiously. "That asshole has a lot of explaining to do."

**If you like what you see, please leave a review! Even if it's just a quick hello, it will help motivate me to write more. I love hearing what you guys have to say.**

**Also, I just realized Anna Lucia is supposed to be spelled "Ana", so sorry about the spelling. Curse you, Frozen! Curse you!**


	17. Don't Mess With Smaug

**I want to feed baby Ben freshly baked scones for all of eternity.**

**Disclaimer: Lets see if I can name everything I don't own: LOST, Tolkien's worlds, Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, The Secret of NIMH, Attack on Titan, Sherlock, Disney, Pixar, annnnnnd I think that's it. I make no claims of ownership except for Cora herself!**

_DHARMA 1974_

_ Our classroom is my sanctuary. It's the one place I can go without fear of being bullied. I've been the target of Doug and his gang of brainless followers since I first moved here. Recently they've even started picking on Annie just because she's my friend. They knock books out of her hands and steal the homework out of her binder._

_ Miss Collins somehow found out and spent an entire class period poking relentlessly at Doug's forehead while asking him if he was annoyed yet—poking even harder if he answered "yes"._

_ Now they hate me even more, but they're too afraid to do anything about it._

_ It's easiest to spend my days here, after the school day has ended. The room is peaceful, deserted. Best of all, I don't have to worry about my father. There are some things worse than school bullies._

_ Miss Collins noticed the bruises on my arms today during class, but she thankfully never asked where they came from. I don't think I'd be able to admit that I got them for accidently dropping my dad's uniform on the floor while trying to fold it. I was sweaty with worry that Miss Collins would make a big deal about it, but she just gave me one of her sad smiles, ruffled my hair, and then wandered off to poke Doug's forehead some more._

_ I like Miss Collins, and not just because she tells interesting stories or bakes the class cookies or gives us presents all the time. She takes the time to know everything about us. She's interested in our hopes and dreams and aspirations for the future. She protects all of us equally—even Doug—from whatever it is that's troubling us._

_ It also doesn't hurt that Annie and I are her favorite students._

_ Annie's crazy about Miss Collins, too. Especially because they both share a love of animals. Miss Collins is almost as protective of animals as she is of us. She's constantly bringing in new animals for us to interact with. But with some of the bigger ones—like Shadowfax the horse—we have to hold class outside._

_It was then when I first realized just how beautiful she is._

_ We were standing around outside, listening to a lecture about the history of horses, and then I looked up at her right when the sun hit the back of her head. Her hair burst with a shimmering golden glow that almost blinded me, but I couldn't close my eyes. For a moment she looked like an angel. Now I can't look at her for very long or my face gets red._

_ I've heard some of the other boys in my class talk about how they would find her attractive if she were skinnier, but they only say that because their father's do. I've heard it whispered among men all throughout the community. But thankfully Miss Collins doesn't seem to care what anyone says. One time a member of security asked her out on a date as a dare, and she dumped her cup of soup on his head and told him he could shove a case of DHARMA beer up his, uh . . . butt._

_I hadn't even noticed that she was bigger than all the other women until they brought it up. I don't get it. If anything it only makes her better because she gives the most comforting hugs in the world._

_ The doorknob squeaks and jiggles. I jump up from my seat on the floor and panic. Where to hide? Where to hide? Nobody ever comes in here at this time of day!_

_ I leap towards the little pushcart where we hang up the dark green Survey Corps cloaks Miss Collins made us for when we go on "outdoor excursions". Nestling myself deep within the cloaks, I hold my breath as a janitor walks in, wheeling a mop bucket in front of him._

_ Dad._

_ "What the hell?" he mumbles, looking around the classroom in disgust. Miss Collins makes us move our desks to the outer rim of the classroom. She wants everyone to interact with each other, and it also makes it easier for her to bring animals in for us to play with. My favorite is Prince Humperdinck, our class pet rabbit. He shed a lot today, and now his pure white fur rolls around in little fluffy tumbleweeds._

_ My dad churns the mop in the sudsy bucket and prepares to clean the floor. I hunker down deeper into the cloaks and pray that he doesn't move this pushcart to clean behind it._

_ The door opens again and I hear a welcoming voice. "Oh, Roger," says Miss Collins. "I didn't know you were in here."_

_ "Huh?" He turns to look at her, and that look crosses over his features—the one he uses when he doesn't want to talk to someone, but is trying very hard not to be rude. "Oh, hello teach."_

_ "It's Miss Collins, actually."_

_ "Yeah," he says. "Okay."_

_ "Your son is in my class," she says. "Actually, since you're here, I figure we can discuss him."_

_ "Yeah?" my dad snaps at her. "What's he done now?"_

_ "Done? Oh, no, no. He's one of my best students. Very curious. Very eager to learn. His brain is like a sponge. It's fascinating."_

_ "Huh," my dad laughs. "You sure we're talking about the same kid?"_

_ Even from my hiding spot I can see Miss Collins lips twitch in a losing fight to keep smiling. It's as if her cheerful glow is slowly draining away, and in its place is something terrifying. She stares at my father for an uncomfortable amount of time._

_"I'm sorry, do you need something?" my dad asks, sounding annoyed._

_"Do you know anything about dragons, Roger?"_

_"Do I know about what?"_

_"Dragons," she repeats. "Mythical creatures of unparalleled power. They are most famous for hording and defending treasure." Miss Collins straightens up, and even though she's still shorter than my dad, she looks much scarier than he does. "I am Smaug, Mr. Linus, and my students are my treasure. As such, I will do what is necessary to protect them from harm."_

_My dad shakes his head and starts to mop the floor. "You've got a few screws loose, don't you?" he scoffs. "You sure you should be teaching kids?"_

_Miss Collins whips an arm out and grabs the mop out of his hands. "I don't think you understand me, Roger," she says in a low voice. "If you ever lay a hand on any of my students again . . . any of them . . . things will not end pleasantly for you."_

_"Hey, what I do with my kid is none of your business." My dad doesn't look afraid, but then again he's never been the brightest crayon in the box, as Miss Collins always says. "Oh, I'm sure Horace would love to hear about this."_

_Miss Collins smiles. "Now, think about that for a moment, Roger. Who do you think anyone is going to believe? The island drunk, or the poor little school teacher who enjoys knitting and baking and hosting class outdoors?" Miss Collins circles my father like a lion before the kill. "We all have rules we must follow, even if they are unspoken. For example, you're not allowed to hit me."_

_"I've never touched you," my father sneers._

_Without warning, Miss Collins lashes out and strikes herself in the face. "Ow! Why would you do that? I'm going to have to call security to have you escorted out!"_

_My dad starts backing away, his hands out, palm up. "Holy shit, you're insane!"_

_In the blink of an eye Miss Collins knocks my father off his feet with his own mop. He tries to stand back up, but she stomps a foot down hard on his chest to pin him. "Oh, my dear, you have no idea." Miss Collins stares down at my father with such intense loathing that it almost makes me afraid for him. She leans in and whispers, "If I ever find bruises on one of my students again, I will break every last bone in your pathetic little frame."_

_My father finally has the sense to look afraid. "Is that a threat?"_

_"No, Roger," she says, dropping the mop down beside him. "That is a promise. I hope we have an understanding. I'm not one to repeat myself." She removes her foot, walks back to the classroom door, and throws it wide open. "Now," she says with a cheerful smile, "get the hell out of my classroom and never step a foot in here again. I'm quite capable of cleaning it myself."_

_I've never seen my dad move faster. He wheels his mop bucket so fast water sloshes out all over the floor. The door clicks shut behind him and the classroom falls dead silent._

_Before I can decide whether or not to reveal myself, Miss Collins speaks._

_"It's alright, Ben. You can come out now."_

. . . . .

Before seeing Jacob, Ben informs me that there is something we must both attend.

Goodwin's midnight funeral gives me uncomfortable goosebumps. Someone has dressed him all in white and decorated a wooden raft with island flowers. All of the attendees are required to wear white linin clothes, so we all look like a bunch of ghosts.

Harper stands at the front of the group, near the ocean's edge. Juliet stands back near the treeline, fighting to keep her crying inaudible.

I don't like any of this. It's making me sad to see so many people sad. I don't like death. Ana has convinced me of that.

Ben made Jack, Kate, Locke, and Sayid attend. They stand huddled together, an awkward, out of place group guarded at gunpoint. 17 gunpoints, to be exact. A little excessive if you ask me, but then again, no one did.

I was able to spare Sayid's life for one more day. I made Ben promise not to let anything happen to him until we return tomorrow from our visit with Jacob.

I turn to leave before the raft is lit.

"You must stay," Ben informs me.

I open my mouth to protest, but the look he gives me makes me stop. _Alright, alright. Follow the customs. _So I stay, I just don't watch. I turn to the side and stare at the sand.

I brought Mrs. Brisby and her children with me. I don't feel safe leaving them alone. There are far too many things ready and willing to eat them, and I haven't secured them a home yet. Ben says I can keep my special copy of _The Hobbit _in a special glass case he has, and the mice can take over the shoebox.

One of their little whiskered noses tickles in-between my fingers and I giggle without even thinking. A woman standing near me turns around with a look of horror and disgust.

"I laugh when I'm upset," I tell her. When she turns back around, I bring my cupped hands up to my mouth. "Stop tickling me," I whisper.

"I'm cold!" Cynthia squeaks.

"Me too!" Timothy chips in.

All of the children break out into a choir of high-pitched complaints that win me uncomfortable glances from everyone nearby. I don't know how long this funeral will continue on for, but I think I have a solution for the little ones.

"Ben?"

He glances at me and brings a finger up to his lips.

"Really quick," I whisper, "can you stand in front of me?"

Thankfully he does as I ask without question. I turn around and bring the mice up to my mouth. "Absolutely _no _clawing or biting. Okay?" When they give me their word, I reach down into my shirt and stuff them in my bra. "Are you warm now?"

"Oh, yes. Thanks," they say in unison.

I turn back around and pretend to watch the rest of the funeral. Somebody had the bright idea to play a sappy song over the loudspeakers positioned near the shoreline. My eyes travel over the beach, eventually landing on the survivors. Jack, Kate and Sayid are engrossed in the funeral, or at least they're pretending to be. Locke, however, is observing me.

Again.

. . . . .

Ben has promised to take me to the statue in the morning. The emotions from today have exhausted me. Mrs. Brisby and her babies are placed in the tissue filled shoebox and set on the nightstand next to Ben's bed. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. I'm too tired to even care that I kicked Ben out of his own room.

. . . . .

I wake up in the middle of the night, paralyzed. I know I'm awake, but I cannot physically move a muscle. Sweat pools on my forehead and trails down into my eyes, but I cannot even reach up and wipe it away. It sizzles and stings, so I try to blink away the pain.

I've kicked all the blankets off me in my struggle to wake up.

I cannot remember what my nightmare was about.

. . . . .

"You weren't kidding about that couch." Ben cracks his back for the twelfth time.

As we trek through the jungle towards the foot statue, Ben explains the multiple laws that govern the community. I try my best to retain it all while running on only a few hours of sleep. I had no idea it was against the law to convince horses they can fly.

The more you know.

We pass by a large grassy field, and a spark of memory resurfaces. This place looks familiar. Something important happened in the show on the little hilltop next to us. Why does it look so familiar? And then it hits me.

_This is where Goodwin was supposed to die. This is where Ana Lucia was supposed to stab him in the chest with a spear. Instead, she was the one who died from impalement._

_ And yet Goodwin still ended up dead._

"That reminds me," I say aloud and jog in front of Ben so he has to look at me. "I thought we had a deal."

"Pardon?"

"You said you wouldn't lie to me," I accuse. "I specifically asked you not to lie to me. You're free to lie to anyone on this island, but not me, and you broke your promise."

He furrows his eyebrows and tries to walk around me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I grab hold of his shoulder and swing him back around. "You lied to me about Goodwin. You made me believe he was some psychopath, when really you're the one who told him to shock Brandon. What the hell is wrong with you?" Ben tries to make up an excuse, but I interrupt him. "You're doing it again! There's no point is lying. Juliet already told me everything."

"I . . . I apologize."

"You abandoned me that day we went to go find Pumba's mother, didn't you? You took off and left me alone in the jungle for no reason, and then pretended to be ecstatic to find me hours later. Didn't you?"

"You needed to learn your way around. Todd and I were keeping an eye on you the entire time," he assures me.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"We can discuss this later." Ben quickens his pace and I have to semi-jog to keep up with him. "If we don't keep our pace, we'll never make it to the beach and back by nightfall."

"Oh, you want to play _that_ game, do you? Fine. We can speed up, but we're still going to discuss this _now_. You lied to me about Goodwin. You lied about abandoning me in the jungle. What else have you lied to me about? Are you really planning on releasing my friends from the beach? Or are you going to kill them off too?" _I should have apologized to Goodwin, and now I'll never get the chance to._

"Cora, I'm not going to talk to you if you're going to throw a tantrum."

_I'll show you a tantrum. _I hurry up behind Ben and shove him with all my might. He stumbles forward and falls, rolling down the side of a hill, sliding awkwardly onto his back.

Ben sits up, inspects his arm, and then looks up at me blankly. "You injured my arm."

"Let's get one thing straight." I frown down at him. "You said this marriage was supposed to be a permanent friendship. Well guess what? Friends don't lie to their friends."

"You just pushed me down a hill," he says in disbelief.

"Stop evading the fact that you lied to me more than once!"

"I was only trying to—"

"I don't care what your excuse is!"

"It was a lapse of judgment on my part," he admits, rubbing at his arm. "And I'm sorry. Honestly. I won't do it again."

I laugh. "And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Have you never lied before?" he asks hastily. "I swear from now on that I will tell you only the truth."

I continue jogging without him, but it's not long before we're side by side again. "Is your arm okay?" I ask. _Why is it I always feel guilty too late?_

"I'll live," Ben returns in a clipped, quiet tone.

Neither of us speaks again until I catch sight of the foot statue in the distance.

I stop for a moment to catch my breath. _Wow. My stamina has greatly improved._ I jogged the majority of the way here, and although I may be dripping with sweat, and my legs are sore, at least I don't feel like I'm going to die.

We walk across the beach, towards the shoreline and the big foot statue. I walk right up to where the door is and pound my fist against the stone. "Open this foot! I know you're in there!"

"How do you know he's in there?" Ben asks.

"I don't actually. He might be wandering around here somewhere. But I know he lives here." I start to pound my fists again. "Jacob? Open this foot! I want to talk to you!"

Nothing.

I give the stone door a swift kick, and then sit down right outside and toss my backpack in the sand in front of me. "I can wait all day!" I yell.

I scoot over so Ben can have a seat, but he stands alone in the sand and ignores me. After about an hour, I'm ready to eat all the food in my backpack.

Ben sighs. "I feared this wouldn't work."

"What?"

"Jacob is not someone you summon. He summons you."

"Oh, ho, ho. Isn't that just a marvelous one-sided relationship? And you still don't believe me when I say he's a total—Oh my God!" I leap up and point towards the trees. "_It's the kid_!"

The little blond boy is standing in the treeline, staring at us. The blood that was dripping down his head has been washed away. His clothes are dirty and saggy on his tiny little frame.

I approach with caution. "Hello. What's your name?" He doesn't immediately run away, so I take a few more steps forward. "Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?"

He points at my backpack, so I tug it off and show it to him. The little boy rips it out of my hands and breaks off into a sprint.

"_HEY!_" I chase after him, momentarily forgetting about Jacob and his stupid mysteries. The kid is fast for one so small. Even with the weight of my backpack, he keeps a good lead. He's no match for Ben though, who scoops up the boy with his good arm and pulls the backpack away with the other.

Once the backpack has been pried from his fingers, the little boy emits a horrid shriek. "EEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEE!" Then he bites down hard on Ben's arm.

I try to calm him down, but the boy is frantic and ends up kicking me in the shin. And then I notice it. The silence.

A thundering roar rumbles in the distance. "Oh, no," I whisper. "Not again." But the terrifying sound doesn't seem to faze the little boy, who continues to thrash in my arms. The monster comes crashing through the trees, and the little boy finally decides to cling to me with fear.

Ben pulls me in front of him. "Run, Cora!"

"No shit, Sherlock!" I hold the boy to my chest and head deep into the jungle.

"In here!" Ben pulls me to the side of a hill. I have no idea what he's doing until he rips away a layer of vines to reveal a door with an enormous DHARMA logo embedded in it. Once we're inside, Ben pulls the door shut and there is nothing but darkness.

"Now what?" I ask. The boy is still clinging to me, his arms wrapped around my neck and his legs wrapped around my hips, like a little monkey. The poor thing is trembling with all his might.

I hear Ben messing with something. There's a squeak of a hinge, a clank, and then a beam of light shoots through the darkness and lands on my face.

"Thank you for blinding me," I say, squinting. "I appreciate it."

Ben moves the flashlight down towards the floor and apologizes. "I think it's gone," he says. "We should leave."

"Leave? You're kidding right? I'm not leaving for a good hour or two. I prefer life, thank you very much." I hike the boy higher on my hip. "Can we at least rest for a while? Please? I'm exhausted. It's not everyday I have to literally run for my life."

Ben studies me a moment, and then relents. "Half an hours rest, and then we leave." He shines the flashlight onto a little metal box on the side of the wall, and pulls up a switch. A pale light illuminates the darkness.

I follow him down a flight of stairs into a cold, poorly lit hallway. Yellowed overhead lamps crackle and flicker with the effort to light up the station.

I remember this was the station where Claire was kidnapped and taken to operate on, but that never happened in this reality.

Reality.

Hm.

I guess I've started to accept whatever this life is as reality.

Ben walks down the eerie hallway and opens a door. Inside are a crib, a rocking chair, and a small cot. I seat the trembling boy down on the cot and hold his face in my hands so he has to look at me.

"What is your name?" I ask. His eyes travel down to stare at my mouth. "Can you hear me? Hello?" His eyes stay glued to my mouth, but he never says a word. "Ben . . . I think he's deaf." I don't speak sign language, but over the years out of boredom and curiosity I did learn some _very _basic phrases. I sign _My name is Cora. Nice to meet you._

The boy perks up, his dead eyes lighting with acknowledgement, and he starts signing at the speed of light.

"Oh, sweetheart I . . . I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I feel horrible. "Ben, do you speak sign language?"

"Only superficially." He watches the little boy tell us something. "I believe he said "friend" and "help". I'll ask him to repeat." The little boy signs again, and Ben nods. "He says he has a friend who needs help."

"Where is your friend?" I ask slowly while the boy tries to read my lips.

He hops off the cot and makes a break for the door.

"No, no, no, sit back down." I smooth out his hair and smile. "You can show us where they are in a little bit, okay?"

He signs something, but I don't need to look at Ben for interpretation. The sign is pretty self-explanatory. "The monster is gone, sweetheart. It's okay."

The boy blinks and then buries himself back into my middle. I soothe a comforting hand over his boney shoulders. "Here," I unzip my backpack and hold out a granola bar, "are you hungry?"

The boy scarfs it down and digs around in my bag for more food. I'm glad I didn't eat it all waiting around for Jacob to show up.

Ben takes a seat next to us on the cot. I watch him rub at his arm.

"Can I see your arm?" I ask.

"You're not a doctor," he states blankly.

"Aye, aye, Captain Obvious."

"Planning on snapping it in two and finishing the job?"

"May I see your arm, Ben?"

Hesitantly, he scoots closer. I place a hand on his wrist, another at the top of his shoulder, and gently extend his arm. He winces halfway. _Oh, great._

"I better not have broken your arm."

He scoots away. "Looks like I'll be spending some more time in the x-ray department. You enjoy sending me there."

A swelling lump forms in the back of my throat. _I'm not a violent person. I'm not. Why am I acting like this?_ "I am really, very sorry. I'm never violent."

"And I never lie," he retorts.

"Eeeeeee." The little boy pulls at my shirt and shows me the backpack is almost empty.

"Holy, moley. You were hungry, weren't you, little guy?" Everything has been eaten except for three granola bars, a papaya, and a bag of pretzels. "Saving these for your friends?"

He stares at my lips, and then nods.

"We should head out," Ben suggests.

"We need you to show us where your friends are," I say. "Hm. I don't know your name. Can you spell your name?"

He signs _D-A-R-C-Y._

I lift him up and smooch his cheek against mine. "As if you couldn't get anymore adorable."

. . . . .

Darcy leads us along, his tiny clammy hand in my own.

We end up at the mouth of an ominous, pitch-black cave.

"Cora?"

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. "Todd! What are you doing here?"

"Hurry," he says. "There's no time. The human is fading."

. . . . .

These children were not supposed to survive. In the real LOST they die of starvation, or get eaten by a polar bear. Their characters don't exist. But here they are.

Aside from Darcy there is a set of very young dark haired twins that I swear could be my sisters in another life, as well as a young man in shock. I enter the cave and the twins scoot back against the inner wall, mumbling Spanish to each other.

"It's alright," I tell them. "I'm here to help you."

"They don't speak English," rasps the teen lying on the floor. His right leg is twisted in an unnatural way, and a splintered bone has pierced through his blood soaked pants. He tries to lift his head, but the effort is too much and he collapses in a sweaty heap.

"Ben, help me get him up."

"I've got him."

I hold out an arm to stop Ben from trying to lift the boy by himself. "You're not lifting him by yourself with your arm. Get one shoulder and I'll get the other."

"I've got him," he insists.

_Why are you being such a pain in the ass? _"Here, you want to carry something? Carry this." I hand Ben my backpack. With a mighty roar I hoist the teen onto my back and adjust him so he won't fall. Bad idea. My spine feels like it's going to snap, but I'm too proud to admit it. "Alright kids, follow me. Or, um . . . _vamanos_!"

. . . . .

"Where did you find them?" Juliet secures the IV in the boys arm and types something into the monitor.

"A cave. I was so focused on getting them all back here safely that I haven't even asked Todd anything about it. He's been the one taking care of them."

"There's nothing more I can do here." Juliet snaps her gloves off and tosses them in the trash. "I'll go get Ethan."

"No," I say aloud, deep in thought. I have an idea. "Don't get Ethan. Get Jack."

Juliet whirls around to gape at me. "Jack? What . . . Cora, we don't have time for this. He's already lost too much blood."

I watch the boy toss and turn in a fever dream. "Just trust me."

"What makes you think Jack will even want to help us?"

_This may be my only chance to help them. Maybe even Sayid. _"Trust me," I say. "It needs to be Jack."

**WARNING: The next chapter contains Jackface galore. Those with heart problems, women who are pregnant or may become pregnant, and those over the age of 75 are advised not to read on. I am not responsible for the side effects of Jackface or any Jacktears that may or may not be shed in abundance. **

**You have been warned.**


	18. Never Been Kissed

**THIS STORY HAS REACHED OVER 5,000 VEIWS! *fireworks explode in the background***

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**How to enter? Leave a review answering this question: What is your crack theory about why Cora goes insane in the 70's?**

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**May the odds be ever in your favor! (I do not own the rights to ****_The Hunger Games_****.)**

_DHARMA, 1975_

_"Your father is an asshole." I feel Annie tense beside me, but Miss Collins doesn't seem to notice her language is making us uncomfortable. "He ever hurts you again, you come tell me."_

_ "Okay," I try to say, but I have to clear my throat. "Okay," I say louder._

_Miss Collins reaches over and nudges Annie's shoulder. "Is anyone bothering you, Granger?"_

_ Annie is quick to shake her head no. _

_ We all have odd nicknames. I'm Bendiana Jones, Annie is Granger, Susan is Salmoncake, Doug is Tortoro, Pete is Lima Bean. On and on. None of them make any sense to me, but Miss Collins keeps track of them all and never gets our real names or our nicknames mixed up._

_ Miss Collins flops back into the grass and props her feet up on a tree trunk. The three of us are sitting in our favorite afterschool spot. It's close enough to the Barracks to hear if our parents call for us, but it's far enough away to not be bothered by others. We're supposed to be studying for our next test, but Miss Collins usually gets off topic. _

_ Annie has her biology book open in the grass. She gives me an impatient look._

_ "I saw that." Miss Collins laughs. "Oh, alright. What is it you need help with?"_

_ "I don't understand the valves of the—" _

_"God, I hate Valentines Day," Miss Collins interrupts. "If I see one more piece of heart shaped paper—no, you know what? They're not even shaped like real hearts! Hearts aren't shaped like that!"_

_ "How do you know?" I ask._

_ "I dissected a cat once. For school," she adds quickly. "Did I ever tell you two that I was going to be a nurse once?"_

_ We both shake our heads no._

_ "Why did you become a teacher?" Annie asks._

_ "I like helping people." She's quiet for so long I think she's finished. Then she adds, "But I couldn't handle suffering. I couldn't handle having to watch people drag out their death. I couldn't handle not being able to help them." Miss Collins sits up suddenly. "It's Friday. Why are you two studying? Good God, go be kids while you still have the chance!"_

_ "But it's Valentines Day," Annie complains, snapping her book shut._

_ "So?"_

_ "That means there's nothing to do because all the grown ups are trying to get Valentines."_

_ Miss Collins rolls her eyes in contempt._

_ Before I can stop myself, it's already been said. "Do you have a Valentine, Miss Collins?"_

_ "I do, actually," she answers. "It's a . . . a very long distance relationship."_

_ I didn't know Miss Collins had a boyfriend. She's never mentioned one before. I try not to look as jealous as I feel._

_ "Now, come on," she says cheerfully. "Lets go bake some anatomically correct Valentines Day cakes!"_

_ She reaches out to pull me to her side and I inadvertently flinch._

_ "Hey," Miss Collins kneels down in front of me, "it's alright, sweetheart. Ben, look at me. I would never hurt you." She taps me on the chin with her thumb and smiles. "You know that, don't you?"_

_ I've never believed something more in my life._

**. . . . .**

"You're kidding, right?" Jack smiles and shakes his head, mocking me. "You're not serious."

"He's going to die if you don't do something," I repeat. "We need you to reset his leg. He's already lost too much blood."

Jack's eyes go wide, his smile manic. "And why should I do anything for you or your people?"

I have to fight not to roll my eyes. "You're not doing anything for me, Jack. You're doing it to save a young boy's life. And he's not one of _us_. He was a passenger on Oceanic."

"Oh, really?" says Jack. He bobs his head up and down, as if agreeing, but I know he's just mocking me even more.

"When he regains consciousness, you can ask him yourself."

"Right," says Jack unenthusiastically. "Right."

"Will you do it? Will you help him?"

Jack's stupid smile is back. He rolls his head up to look at me and says, "No."

We've been at it for a good half an hour or so. I had Kate, Sayid, and Locke removed from the rec room so I could talk to Jack without their influence. He's still handcuffed to a window.

Jack fixes things. It's what he's hardwired to do. It's in his nature. I figure it won't take much longer to wear him down and convince him to fix that poor boy's leg.

"You will have everything you need," I explain. "There's a fully equipped medical station nearby. He's there now. He's waiting."

"Whose waiting?"

"I already told you, I don't know his name. He's been unconscious this whole time." I stare him down, hoping to embed guilt through my eyes. "You have to help him."

"No, I don't have to _do _anything!" Jack lashes out.

"You're right," I agree. "You don't have to save his life. I'll be sure to tell the rest of the children he saved why he's no longer with us. I'm sure they'll be ecstatic."

Finally, Jack seems to be seriously considering the situation. "Other children?"

"A set of young twin girls, and a little deaf boy. The four of them were hiding out in a cave since the crash. I don't know how long ago the boy's leg was broken, but he's been keeping them alive all this time. Do you really think it's right to let him die now? Like this? The boy's a hero, Jack."

"You're lying." Jack's face twists into multiple different grimaces and frowns and forms of Jackface. I've always found Jackface to be extremely amusing, however it's slightly less amusing when I'm the one having to deal with it. I'm sick of seeing his lips curl behind his teeth in some sort of bizarre soundless snarl.

Ben probably would have already convinced Jack to suit up and go, but there's no way I could ask for Ben's help. It turns out I fractured his arm. It's only a hairline fracture, but it's still a fracture. I've been avoiding him since we returned home.

_What would Ben do?_

Time for plan B.

B for Ben. Haha.

Yep, still need to work on that humor.

I wave a hand and Richard shepherds in the twin girls, whose names I discovered are Alejandra and Maria, (who knew I would retain anything from 3 years of high school Spanish?) and Darcy.

I point towards Jack and say, "Este es Jack. Es un doctor. Pero el no ayudara." My Spanish may not be great, but at least I get my point across.

Both of the girls start to plead frantically for Jack to help their friend, but they are speaking way to fast for me to translate.

"Richard? What are they saying?"

Richard listens to Alejandra's plea, and then says, "She wants to know why a doctor will not help her friend."

_Yes! It's working! It's actually working! _I can see the gears grinding in Jack's brain. He smiles and looks up at the ceiling. _He's weaning!_

But this is taking too long. "How about this," I say, placing an arm around Darcy's shoulder and pulling him close. "If you fix his leg, Jack, I'll let you leave this island."

This grabs his attention, even though he looks like he's trying hard not to seem interested. "And how would that work out?"

"We have a submarine. How do you think we bring in recruits?" _Oh, how easily the word "we" comes out of my mouth, as if I've been here my whole life._

"I want a spot on that submarine," Jack blurts out. "No, I want a spot for every person that wants to leave. All of us. Including the people still at the beach."

I catch Richard's eye, but he's got his poker face on. I hope my eyes are sending him a message to remain silent about the submarine. "If I agree to those terms, will you fix the boy's leg? Will you give it your honest best effort?"

Jack contemplates the offer, and then nods sharply.

. . . . .

It's a beautiful day.

Too bad everything's gone to Hell.

My plan has worked, but only temporarily. I have no idea if I'll be able to keep my promise about the submarine because I'm not the leader yet. It was just empty words to trick Jack into saving someone. What will Jack think of me once he figures out I don't actually have the power I've been pretending to have?

A few yards away, an angry cat is hissing at Todd. "Get away from me, you vile beast!" The cat takes a swipe, grazes Todd's snout with her claws, and promptly scampers off.

"Who was that?" I ask when he wanders over.

"Who, Nadia?" Todd rubs at his wounds. "She likes me, she just won't admit it."

"I doubt that very much."

"So, how are things with your dear survivor friends? Any progress with Alfred?"

"Alfred? Whose Alfred?"

Todd sits up. "The boy with the broken leg, of course."

"Oh, well I've convinced Jack to fix his broken leg. I'm actually on my way to retrieve Juliet. Jack's going to need all the help he can get."

I guess someone has already informed Juliet about what's happened. I can see her approaching the hospital, so I flag her down. At the same time I see Ben leaving the hospital.

Oh, no. I need to explain what I've done about the submarine. Maybe he won't have a problem with it after all. Maybe I can convince him to let Juliet go with them when the sub departs.

He's wearing a sling.

"Ben," I raise my hand to wave him down, "could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Good morning, Juliet." Ben gives her a cheerful smile and passes by without even looking at me. "Thank you for the sling. And best of luck with the operation."

"Ben," I say louder. "Hey!"

"Hm," Juliet remarks. She gives me a surprised look, her eyebrows slowly rising. "What did you do?"

_I don't believe this. He's giving me the silent treatment. Because of his arm? _

I ignore her question. "Jack's suiting up. Good luck. I'll be back to check on you all when it's over."

"I'm not a surgeon," she says, smiling, "but I'm happy to help anyway I can."

She's been so glum ever since we first met that it's nice to see her smile.

. . . . .

"Can this wait? I'm busy at the moment."

"You haven't done a single thing since I got here. Shifting papers all over your desk doesn't make you busy."

"I only have one hand to work with," he says snidely, "thanks to you."

"That still doesn't constitute shifting papers around as being _busy._"

Ben drops the papers into a pile and looks up at me for the first time since I got here. "What is it that you want?"

"I've already said what I want."

"And I've already said no," he answers.

"So, Cindy and the kids can stay, but not anyone else?"

"This conversation is getting rather old, don't you think? My decision is final. End of discussion."

"How can you have such complete disregard for human life?"

"I have my own people to look out for," he says defensively. "You have no right to pass judgment on my moral code when you are arguing for the asylum of individuals who had guns pointed at us before we even exchanged names."

"But I promised Jack he could leave on the submarine."

"Well," Ben exclaims, "that was rather dense of you, wasn't it?"

_Did he just call me stupid?_ _He just called me stupid. _His outburst throws me off and makes me backtrack a decade to the days of silence and no self-esteem. I can take a lot of shit, but I don't do well with being thought of as stupid. My father never passed up an opportunity to try and convince me that I was as intelligent as a sack of hammers. It's as touchy a subject for me as food.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "But he's helping us. He's doing the operation!"

Ben slides his glasses back onto his nose and returns his attention to the papers. "I never agreed to any of this. I'm happy that the boy will have a chance to walk again, but your agreement was never ratified by me."

_Why didn't I see this coming? Why did I think after rejecting my plea once, he was suddenly going to change his mind about letting people leave the island? _

_I am stupid. Wasn't it Einstein who defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?_

I suck in a deep breath. "If you make them go back to the beach, I'm leaving too."

"You're your own person." Ben gathers up the same stupid stack of papers and slides them in a folder. He's not even looking at me. "You can do what you'd like."

Not the answer I was looking for.

"Okay, then," I threaten. "I'll leave _right now_."

"You know where your backpack is," he says calmly.

There's something snide on the tip of my tongue. I know there is. I just can't get it out. I want to smack him senseless. I want to apologize for fracturing his arm. Instead, I turn to collect my backpack. Ben doesn't comment when I fill it with food, but I catch him glancing at me every once in a while.

"Wait," he calls out when I reach the front door. A small part of me is relieved that he's not just going to let me leave. I turn to Ben expecting an argument—craving it, even—but he has produced my bow and arrows. I sling the bow and sheath over a shoulder, and Ben returns to his desk without another word.

No goodbye.

Right before I slam the door, I shoot him the finger and say, "Congratulations, Ben. You're the first person I've ever flipped off!"

The farther away from his house I travel the more upset I become. _He just let me leave. He didn't even try and persuade me to stay. He didn't even say goodbye._

Sawyer notices my sour mood. "Well, hey-howdy-hey, Doublemint. How're you doing this fine morning?"

I grunt in response.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" he questions curiously. The color has returned to his face now that his gunshot to the shoulder has been cleaned out and medicated.

"Back to the beach."

"Back to the beach?" he says incredulously. "What . . . have you and Captain Kangaroo already had your first marital spat?" Sawyer shakes his head and tosses a papaya in the air. "That didn't last long."

"Go away, Sawyer," I grumble. I'm so angry I don't trust myself to say much, for fear of crying.

Sawyer has become serious. He catches my arm and asks, "You really going back to the beach?"

"Yes," I say, yanking away from him. "I want to search for the wolves. Why? You want to come with me?"

Sawyer chuckles and shakes his head. His dirty blonde hair falls lazily over his eyes. "Nah," he says. "I like it fine right here. But hey," he adds when I turn away, "you be careful out there, Cora."

I stop walking and fight the urge to cry. He used my real name.

_It's not fair. Why couldn't my father have been even a little bit like Sawyer? Why couldn't my father have _been_ Sawyer?_

I reach the spot where the survivors were captured, and realize I don't know the code to the fence. I lash out. Without even bothering to strap on my wrist protector, I start launching arrows into the nearest tree trunk.

_Screw you._ I let an arrow fly.

_Screw you. _I release another.

_SCREWYOUSCREWYOUSCREWYOU! _I don't even know who I'm talking to. My dad? Ben? The world?

Myself?

The first six don't even come close to hitting the target, but I manage to get the seventh stuck deep into the wood. I'm stunned that I finally hit something.

"You need to raise your elbow a little."

I spin sharply in the direction of the voice, my bow already loaded.

Carl holds out his hands, backing up quickly. "Whoa, whoa," he says. "Don't shoot!"

I drop my aim with an annoyed frown. "What do you want?"

"Geez, I was just trying to help."

"Wait. Hey, Carl, wait. Come back. I'm sorry." I hold up the bow and arrows in shame. "I don't know how to do this properly. Nobody has had a chance to teach me yet."

Carl continues to give me pointers on shooting all afternoon. He can't seem to wipe a big stupid grin off his face.

"What are you grinning for?"

"Sorry," he says. "It's just . . . well, I'm teaching you how to shoot a bow. This is really cool. Alex is going to be so jealous."

"I'm guessing you were raised with stories about me as well?"

"Yeah," he says excitedly. "Alex and I are pretty much your biggest fans."

I shoot an arrow right into the center of the trunk.

"Nice," says Carl. I restring the bow. "So, I heard about the wolves."

"Yeah." I let the arrow fly and it sinks in deep right next to my other bull's-eye.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"I don't know yet." I run a hand over my eyes. "I don't even know how to find them. This island is huge. I don't even know where to start."

"Is that what your backpack is for?" Carl nods toward it. "Are you leaving?"

"I was." I look up at the sky and try to judge how long it will be until nightfall. "You wouldn't happen to know the code for the fence, would you?"

Carl raises an eyebrow. "You really think Ben would entrust me with that information?"

"I guess it's too late now anyway. I'll leave in the morning."

"By yourself?" he asks in disbelief.

"I guess." I smirk. "Unless you're volunteering."

"I don't think Alex would like that very much."

"Bring Alex, then."

Carl laughs. "I don't think Ben would like that very much."

"Ah." I send another arrow deep into the trunk. That was the last of my arrows, so the two of us make the long walk to retrieve them. "I'm curious. How is that? Dating his daughter?"

"Well, when we're not being spied on by that fox of his, we're being spied on by human beings." Carl shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sighs. "I mean, how would you like it if your parents sent out spies to keep an eye on you and your boyfriend, like you were a baby?"

"I wouldn't know," I say. "I've never dated."

Carl stops and stares at me in shock. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I got married without ever having been on a single date in my entire life."

"Wow. Was it because everyone was afraid of you?"

Now it's my turn to laugh. "No. It definitely wasn't because people feared me. I just . . . never found someone I wanted to be with." I blink away my stupor. "So, Alex, hm?"

The tips of Carl's ears turn pink. "Yeah."

"How long have you been dating?"

"A while. We've been friends for forever. It just sort of happened. One day we were friends, and then one day we weren't."

We start gathering the arrows. I tug at the ones lodged into the tree trunk, and I hear Carl snickering. "What are you laughing at this time?"

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "It's just . . . you're Cora, for crying out loud! You took down the Initiative, you rode on the backs of polar bears, you could pin a fly to the wall with a single arrow . . . and you've never kissed someone? It's just . . . it's weird!"

"I never said anything about kissing."

Carl gives me a questioning look.

I roll my eyes. "Alright, yes. I've never kissed someone."

"Unreal," he says under his breath.

After we gather up all the arrows, Carl continues to instruct me on proper technique.

"Thanks a lot, Carl. I really appreciate you helping me. My aim has already improved, and it's only been a day!"

"Not a problem," he returns, smiling.

"Oh, and Carl?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever tell anyone about our conversation," I string my bow and pull it tight against my cheek, "I'll put an arrow through your knee."

. . . . .

The barracks are deserted when I make it back. Night has fallen over the community, and everyone has retreated into their snug little houses. I pass by Juliet's house and hear the musical laughter of Sawyer. At first I dismiss it, but then I hear Juliet laughing alongside him.

I knock, and Juliet is quick to answer. She looks surprised to see me. "Cora? Oh, I thought . . . James, I thought you said she left?"

Sawyer rushes up from behind her and pulls me into a bear hug. I cringe in silent mortification. Thankfully it's over quickly. "I knew you'd be back. Can't live without them toilets, right?"

"Cora!" Pumba squeals and rubs his snout against my ankle.

"Hey you," I reach down and pet his bristly hair. "I haven't seen you in a while. Whose your friend?"

A little fuzzy chick has appeared at Pumba's side. "I am Drumstick!" he cheeps.

I slowly raise my eyes up to Sawyer, who is fighting and failing not to laugh. "Well, it was nice to meet you . . . _Drumstick._" I shoot another look at Sawyer. He's turned almost completely around so he can laugh. "It was nice to see you too, Pumba. How did the operation go?" I ask Juliet.

Juliet's good-natured smile widens. "Operation went as smoothly as I hoped it would. There's the possibility that he may have a permanent limp, unfortunately, but other than that he'll be fine. He should be waking up within the next 24 hours."

"That's great." I shift from one foot to the other. "Where's Jack?"

"Oh, you haven't heard," Juliet says. "Ben moved them all to a house on the other side of the Barracks."

My mouth is hanging open, so I snap it shut. "What?"

Juliet leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "It's intensely guarded, but it's better than being chained to a window, right?"

This doesn't make sense. "It's not . . . they're being kicked out, though. Aren't they? Tomorrow?"

Juliet frowns in thought and looks to Sawyer. "No, it's permanent, as far as I know. Well, except for . . . what's his name, James?"

"Who?" Sawyer nudges away the chick, who is pecking furiously at his toes. "Al Jazeera? Names Sayid, I think."

"What about Sayid?" I ask.

"He's being sent beyond the fence tomorrow," Juliet answers.

"He's not being executed?" _What the hell is going on?_ "Why?"

Juliet shrugs. "Don't ask me. I don't understand why Ben does half the things he does."

_Why would . . . Okay, now I'm really confused. He gave me nothing but hell ever since the survivors showed up, and now he grants them asylum? Why? _"I guess I should go home," I say. "I'm planning on looking for the wolves tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

They wave goodnight from the porch and I wonder when they finally decided to become friendly towards each other. People are so unpredictable.

Minutes go by as I stand in front of Ben's front door with my hand raised and ready to knock. But I haven't yet. I decide to just let myself in.

A lamp shines a yellow light from down the hallway. I drop off my backpack by the couch and head to Ben's room to get some pajamas. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom, so after I change I have another look around the room.

"You're back."

I spin around. Ben is standing in the bathroom doorway, dressed in his pajamas. He looks genuinely surprised.

"Yes," I say awkwardly. "I didn't have the code to the fence . . . so, I practiced archery instead. I thought you knew."

"I was not informed," he states softly. Water drips off his hair and blots his pajamas with dark little circles. "Well, then. Sorry to bother you, but if you're going to stay, I'll need one of those pillows."

I eye his sling and feel physically sick with guilt. I know from first hand experience that his couch is an extremely uncomfortable piece of shit. If he sleeps on it again tonight, it won't just throw out his back for the millionth time in a row, it will make his already injured arm that much more unbearable. And _I'm _the one who gave him that arm.

Ben selects a pillow from off his bed and starts to head out.

"Wait, wait," I call him back. "Ben, wait. You can sleep with me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me rephrase," I amend quickly. "You can sleep on this side of the bed, fully clothed with your hands to yourself, until approximately 8-9:30 am. Deal?"

"Thank you, but no."

I hadn't anticipated a refusal.

"I think it would be more comfortable for everyone if I sleep on the couch," he says matter-of-factly.

"Ben, if you sleep on that stupid couch, I'll be up all night feeling guilty that not only did I fracture your arm, but I kicked you out of your own room." I throw back the blankets on his side. "Now, stop arguing with me and just _go to sleep._"

Ben turns to leave. "Goodnight, Cora."

I swing out of bed and try to pull the pillow away from him. "Fine. _I'll _sleep on the couch. Give me the pillow, Ben."

"No."

"I'm trying to apologize!"

He backs up, shaking his head. "I don't expect you to understand."

_Oh for the love of God, just let me apologize already! _"Understand what?"

"That this isn't fair," he says sharply.

I recoil immediately.

"You're supposed to be _dead!_" he yells, his outburst accusatory. "You said . . . You brought me to Richard. You told me you'd be right back. _And you never came back_." He says each word in their own sharp little sentences. "So I waited. I've been waiting. I've spent the majority of my life mourning you, and now suddenly here you are, as if nothing ever happened? You don't know who _I _am! You don't even know who _you _are!" I back up, but he closes in on me, ranting louder than ever. "You set animals on me! You fractured my arm! You look like her . . . I want to believe you are her, but you're not. You can't be." I feel smaller than I've ever felt in my life under his disappointed stare. "Dead is dead. You don't get to come back from that. Not even here. So, if you _are _the real Cora, then the fact that you're walking around on this island . . . scares the living hell out of me." Ben finally breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm tired . . . I don't know what I'm saying. Goodnight."

"I keep saying this isn't who I am," I blurt out. Tears swell in my eyes no matter how hard I try to blink them away. "But I'm starting to think it is."

_I've finally realized what's wrong with me. Ever since I started recovering from depression, I've been acting exactly like my father. Random outbursts, physical and verbal abuse to practically everyone I come in contact with, and I've even started swearing profusely. I never used to swear out loud._

_No. No, please, no. Please tell me this isn't the real me._

_ Is this who I really am? Is this who I've always been and I just never knew it? Is this the real me that's been trapped inside, bottled up tight from depression, and now that there's nothing standing in its way it can reek havoc?_

_ I look like my father. Am I doomed to act like him too?_

_Am I doomed to be a violent monster?_

"I never meant to hurt you," I continue. "That was an accident. But you want to talk about fair? You're mad at me for something I haven't even done yet. And what about me? I'm never going to see my family again. I'm stuck in a place where they don't even exist anymore. How is that fair?"

No amount of laughter will release the tension in my throat. I can't run, because he's blocking the doorway. I want my mother to comfort me. I want _someone _to comfort me because I feel like garbage. I feel like the lowest form of life on the planet.

But my mother isn't here, so I rock my head forward onto Ben's shoulder and begin to sob.

I don't know what he's thinking because I cannot see his face. His uninjured arm reaches up and he rests a hand on the small of my back. I wait for the flashes to start. I wait for the panic to rise up inside me like a sweltering sickness. Instead, I feel the comfort I was longing for. The tears quickly die.

I once read in a medical journal that humans need an average of 4 hugs a day for survival, 8 hugs a day for maintenance, and 12 hugs a day for growth.

If those statistics are actually true, that would explain so much.

I bring my own arms up and wrap them around his shoulders.

_1 hug down, 1,000,000,000,000 to go before I'm considered "healthy"._

"I don't want you to be mad at me anymore," I say. "Please, Ben. I like having you as a friend."

"I'm not mad anymore."

I rest against his shoulder and sigh with relief. "How am I supposed to lead anybody if I can't even take care of myself?" It's a good thing I don't wear mascara, or his pajama shirt would be a mess. "I keep saying that I can take care of myself, but that's not true. I'm not mature enough. I'm not mature at all. I want to believe that I am, but I'm not." It's embarrassing to think about. _I'm 20 years old. I'm a legal adult, and I'm still throwing tantrums like a 2 year old?_ "I don't want to be the leader."

"Maybe that's why it's being given to you."

_Who the hell knows why it's being given to me? I'm literally the worst candidate to watch over people. I'm impulsive and insecure and really really lonely. Bad combination._

"You gave them a house," I say into his shirt, suddenly remembering about the survivors. Ben's been fighting me tooth and nail ever since they showed up, and now they have a house all to themselves. "You're letting them stay."

I feel his forehead rest on the top of my head. "Are you still going to leave?" he whispers.

_He's letting them stay so that I'll stay._

This is such an inappropriate time to be turned on.

I pull away from my spot on his shoulder, and my hands impulsively reach out and cup both sides of his face. I stand on the tips of my toes, my heart soaring, and gently kiss his lips. It's not deep, or feverish, or impatient. It's as light as the flap of a butterfly's wing. It's barely a kiss at all.

_Okay. Now what?_

For once I don't feel completely stupid because judging by the stunned look on his face, he doesn't know what to do either.

Ben suddenly pulls me close to him with a hand between my shoulder blades. Before I have a chance to protest, he gently presses his warm lips to mine. A fluttering in my stomach slowly leeches out to my limbs. Up close I can smell the lingering scent of his cologne, or maybe that's just what he smells like. I've never consumed alcohol before, but I'm almost positive this is what it feels like to be drunk.

I pull away with a smack. I feel drunk. Ben looks drunk. Before he can lean in for a third time, I hold out my hands and say, "Give me that pillow." He hands it over and I point to his side of the bed and say, "Go to sleep."

He blinks a few times, and then says, "Okay."

I slip into bed beside him and say, "Turn out the light." I listen to the click of the switch, and the room goes black. "Scoot over a little." He shifts beside me. He's so obedient, that I have an idea. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Will you let Jack and Juliet leave on the submarine tomorrow? Jack did the surgery, and I promised him he could leave." I turn to look at Ben in the dark. "You're not going to make me a liar, are you?"

Ben opens and closes his mouth about a dozen times, thinking and rethinking an answer. I reach out and gently brush back some hair that fell over his forehead. "Okay," he breathes.

_Is this technically taking advantage of him?_

_ Screw it. I'll think about the moral implications in the morning._

The silence has swelled and stuffed itself into every corner of the room. It's suffocating. "Ben?"

He shifts around. "Hm?"

"I'm leaving in the morning to try and find the wolves. Can you tell me the code for the fence?"

He swiftly sits up on one elbow, bumping into my side, but I don't think it's intentional because he doesn't apologize. "Why do you need the wolves, anyway? You don't need to leave. We can just stay here. The fence will keep out anything that means us harm." His bargaining is that of a child. He's completely forgotten about the fact that at some point in time I told him I need the wolves. If I don't have the wolves, nothing plays out the way it's supposed to. Ben seems to have regressed back to the days of his youth, and I don't know how to snap him out of it. I don't know how to tell him that I'm leaving tomorrow with or without him.

"Okay," I assure him, and I feel him relax. "I'll stay."

I guess I'm not such a bad liar after all.


	19. The Darkness That Lurks In Us All

**Congrats to ALL of the entries for winning the competition! Since there was only three or four people who gave me theories, I've decided to include you all in the next chapter! I'll be PM'ing you soon with details.**

** Sorry this chapter is a little short, but I had to cut it off here, or it would have seriously been like three chapters worth of madness. Enjoy. And as always, thank you for the reviews! I never get tired of reading them :)**

**Note:**** I'm not sure if I can get away with a T rating anymore. I may change it to M. This is my first Fanfiction, so I honestly don't know. Do any of you know? I'd appreciate some feedback so I don't get in trouble.**

_DHARMA, 1975_

_ Annie is gone. She left with her parents on the last sub back to the mainland. Annie's father was the only Hydra worker Miss Collins spared, but it wasn't enough to calm Annie down. Her family was the first to board the submarine._

_ My father is gone. He left on the same submarine as Annie. I'm glad he's gone, and it shouldn't bother me that he left without saying goodbye, but it does._

_ Now I have no one, not even Miss Collins._

_ Miss Collins hasn't come out of her house in two weeks. Her parents won't let anyone visit her. Sometimes I can see her silhouette pacing in front of the bedroom window, but she never draws back the curtains._

_ Richard looks after me now. Miss Collins made all of DHARMA evacuate the island, except for the physicists working on the Swan Station. I don't know why. Nobody tells me anything. I stare out the window and imagine ways I could try and communicate with her._

_ "She'll be alright." Richard peers at me from over his journal and smiles. "She just needs a little break."_

_ "A break from what?" I question. My face warms at Richard's disproving look._

_ Eventually the silence becomes unbearable, and I flee._

_ The Hostiles have moved into the barracks and adjusted really quickly. A few of them recognize me and say hello, but for the most part I am ignored._

_ We're not allowed to wear DHARMA jumpsuits anymore. In fact, it has been strictly forbidden. Horace was the first victim. A small circle of frightened onlookers watched as Miss Collins knocked him over onto his back and plunged a knife into his chest, over and over, like a robot. She never said anything—no screaming, no cursing—just slammed the knife into his chest with a violent urgency. I watched from my front porch as her face gradually stained a dark red from the spray of Horace's blood. I wish there had been something I could do to help, but I was frozen in terror. Horace was the first friend I made on this island._

_ That was the last time I saw her. While her parents were dragging her away, I caught her eye, but she didn't acknowledge me. I'm not even sure if she knew who I was._

_. . . . ._

_ I'm lying on my bed, Prince Humperdinck seated on my stomach, when I hear the tapping._

_ At first I think it's the beginning of a rainstorm, but then the rain whispers my name. I sit up and hurry to open the window. A furry white mass leaps in and lands soundlessness on the wood flooring._

_ A firm hand tousles my hair. "I like your new haircut."_

_ "Miss Collins?" I practically yell._

_ "Shhhhhh!" she warns, quickly covering my mouth with a hand. "Do you want me to get thrown back in the slammer?"_

_ Draped over her head, trailing down her back like some sort of massive cape is . . . "Miss Collins," I stammer, "what is that?"_

_ "His name was Alabaster." She fluffs the fur and does a quick spin. "Isn't he gorgeous?" She frowns at my expression. "I didn't kill him if that's what you're wondering."_

_ I thought seeing Miss Collins again would make everything better. Like somehow everything would magically go back to the way it was when she was our teacher. But I can tell just by looking at her that the Miss Collins I knew is gone. Her eyes are so rimmed with dark circles that it makes them look like they're sinking into her head. Every few seconds she twitches at some unheard sound. She's wearing the fur of one of the polar bears she just fought to free. If there is one thing I know about her, it's that she would never kill an animal without a reason. And why would she wear it?_

_I back up, suddenly afraid. "You killed Horace."_

_She looks confused, and then her eyes widen. "Aw, shit. I did, didn't I? Damn it." She hits her forehead with the palm of her hand, and then jerks her attention back to me. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It was that damn jumpsuit . . . makes me go crazy, you know? I am getting better, though."_

_What?_

_She starts wandering around my room, picking up pictures and stopping briefly to ask Prince Humperdinck how he's been doing. "Hey, where's Granger?"_

_The memory of her departure hits me hard in the stomach. Annie was furious that I wanted to stay. She couldn't understand why Miss Collins killed so many people. I don't understand it either—not really—but I still defended her. I figured she had to have a good reason. Good people don't just kill people for no reason._

_It finally hits me that Annie is gone. "She left . . . with her family. On the subs."_

_"What? When?"_

_"Two weeks ago," I say bitterly. _

_Miss Collins lets out a long sigh and sits at the edge of my bed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I want you to know that."_

_I don't know what to do, so I sit down beside her._

_"I've had a really shitty life, Ben," Miss Collins says airily, like she's remembering a dream. "A really shitty life." She turns to look at me with her scary, bloodshot eyes. "I'm trying to make sure yours is better than mine ever was." A flash of arm peeks out from under the fur, and she jerks the cape around herself to cover it, but not before I see. Her arms are covered with long pink scars._

_She killed an entire island full of people, she killed a polar bear, she killed Horace, and now she's hurting herself?_

_"You're going to yell, aren't you?" she asks flatly._

_Before I can even think to yell for Richard, she's tied something around my mouth. The only sound I can make is an almost silent muffled protest._

_ "One of these days everything is going to make sense. I promise. Come on, kiddo." She picks me up and slings me over a shoulder, already heading for the window. "It's time I teach you how to fight."_

_. . . . ._

My dreams are full of the stench of antiseptic. I'm lying on my back, being wheeled at impossible speeds through a cold hospital floor. The lights flash by in a blur, the stretcher wheels squeaking furiously like Mrs. Brisby's children.

I stretch my neck to get a look at the doctor wheeling my stretcher. He pulls down his mask to reveal Ben's face. "Here you go," he says and releases the stretcher with one final push.

I go careening down the hallway, screaming bloody murder, until I crash into a pile of discarded birdcages. My face slaps the freezing tile floor. I try to make it to my feet, but a bloody arm darts out from between the bars of a cage and grabs tightly to my ankle. It's my mother, only it's not. This version of her has no eyes, only hollow holes that stretch on into infinity. Her lips part and blood gushes out from between her sharp teeth, dribbling all over the floor.

I scream and thrash until I brake free of her grip. The hallway turns slick with blood, slowly tilting downward until I'm sliding, helpless to stop. Eventually I slam into a door with a giant DHARMA logo on it.

"Open this door!" I plead, banging my fists against the cold metal. "_PLEASE! OPEN THIS DOOR!_"

The door swings open to reveal a man wielding a rife.

Desmond. It's Desmond Hume.

His eyes go wide, and he drops his aim. "It's you," he says in amazement.

. . . . .

I wake up a few hours later to the steady beating of a drum. Groggy, with only a fleeting recollection of my dream, I nestle my face deeper into my pillow—only it's not as fluffy as I remember it being when I first dosed off. When I open my eyes, I find that I've been resting my head on Ben's chest.

"I would just like to point out," he says nervously, "that you rolled onto me completely on your own." He looks so paranoid that I snort with laughter. When I lift my head to return to my side of the bed, he says, "You don't have to move, if you don't want to. You're not bothering me."

I haven't shared a bed with someone since before the "incident" with my mother. My sisters used to climb into bed with me all the time, curling themselves up like kittens. After the incident, the sleepovers were a thing of the past.

I hadn't thought about that memory in years. It consoles me, so I decide to rest my head back on his chest.

"You move around a lot in your sleep," he comments.

"What time is it?"

"2 am."

_Ugh. I hate night terrors. _"I didn't wake you, did I?" I ask.

"I'm a light sleeper."

"Sorry." To help get my mind off the lingering post-night terror nausea, I brush my fingers against his sling, and I think back to yesterday morning. "What did you tell Juliet about your arm? She acted like she didn't know it was from me."

"I told her I fell." He smiles. "It's not technically a lie."

Even when he's pissed off he still looks after me. I contemplate whether or not I should kiss him. I'm so full of happiness that it borderlines sickness. But it doesn't last long.

Someone starts pounding on the front door.

. . . . .

The plate I fling across the room shatters into a rain of broken glass. "_HOW_?" I scream.

The three men who witnessed the explosion take a hesitant step back. Ben doesn't even try to reassure them that I won't harm them.

"He's an old, bald man!" I yell. "You're telling me that seven armed guards can't keep an eye on an elderly man? Is that what you're telling me?"

"He orchestrated a distraction," one of the men pipes up.

_Breathe in, breathe out. _I turn around, calm as I can manage, and give Ben's hand a squeeze. "I'm going to go get dressed," I tell him. "It's time I have a talk with Michael Bay."

"Who?" Ben asks.

"With Locke," I elaborate. "I want you to come with me."

His eyes widen with surprise. "You do?"

"Yes," I answer, heading down the hall. "I need you there to make sure I don't murder him."

. . . . .

Locke is sitting smug on a chair in the rec room, despite him being back to square one. His hands have been handcuffed behind his back. I stand in front of him underneath the buzzing pool table lamp. A gnat makes a dive for my face, so I clap it dead in midair.

"You mind telling me why you blew up our submarine?" I ask.

"The island told me to," Locke answers.

Locke's odd obsession with the island was enduring, almost charming when I first watched the show. _Now _I understand why Jack was always so angry with him. "The island told you," I say monotone. "So, you're a tree whisperer? Tell me, how does a hunk of volcanic aftermath speak to you?"

"It doesn't speak to you?" he asks, a tiny grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh, sure," I say. "I love a good conversation with my friends Mr. Twig and Mrs. Palm Tree."

Locke doesn't lose any of his good-natured cheer. "Maybe you're just not listening close enough."

_I had convinced him. I had finally convinced Ben to let Juliet go home, and then this numbnut comes along and destroys the one shot I had at making someone's life better than the original show. _The anger is boiling up inside me like a teakettle. I feel Ben's hand on my arm, and I start tapping my foot to try and calm down.

"So, Cora . . . who exactly are you?"

I snort. "You want the truth or the version you can wrap your head around?"

"Tell me," he asks, "were you born here? On the island?"

"I was born in Kentucky. Moved to Los Angeles when I was a baby. My favorite color is blue, and I hate asparagus. Any other questions?"

"You weren't on our plane."

"No, Locke, I wasn't on your plane."

"How'd you get your head split open? Seems like a lot of trouble just to try and fit in."

My hand flies up to smooth out the scar from whatever it was that sliced my head open on the first day of the crash. If it had been only a little bit lower, I could have passed myself off as Harry Potter. "I don't know how that happened."

"When did you come to the island?" Locke asks curiously.

I sigh and look around for a chair. Ben drags one over for me without me asking him to. I take a seat and Ben continues standing, a reassuring hand resting lightly on my shoulder. For some reason the touching helps. It's like he's sucking away my fury through his hand.

I begin my long explanation. I tell Locke that I'm from a different dimension in the future, and that I was sent here for some reason to help everyone on the island. No, I'm not psychic. No, I didn't have the power to talk to animals before I came to the island. No, I don't know how to get back to my own dimension. I have a feeling nobody here is going to appreciate being told that they're fictitious, so I leave that part out.

What actually happened was two girls from one of my classes let it slip that they had never watched LOST before, so I offered to watch it with them. They agreed, but only if I supplied snacks. I was pretty much the lowest man on the totem pole in my dorm, so I agreed just for the bragging rights of hosting a "girls night". Halfway through season 1 episode 5, I dosed off. The rest is history.

"You and I," Locke says, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye, "we're meant to be here. The island chose us. It brought us here."

"Oh, really?" I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "And why is that?"

"The island blessed the two of us."

I wait for him to elaborate. "Blessed how?"

"Before I got here . . . I was—"

"In a wheelchair," I finish. "Yes, I know."

I've finally stunned him into silence, but it doesn't last long. "I can walk . . . you can talk to animals . . . don't you think of these things as blessings?"

"Oh, I'm thinking of a lot of things, John, and none of them are pleasant." I rub my fingers over my eyes, one at a time.

"I didn't know you were married," Locke comments. I forgot I was wearing a wedding ring. It didn't take long to get used to.

"Recently," I answer.

"I assume you're the lucky fella?" Locke chuckles and I stop rubbing my eyes to see what's so funny. "I'm sure every man on this island is nagging you for your secret. Known each other for, how long? Three weeks? Kind of hasty if you ask me."

"It's a good thing we didn't ask you then, isn't it?" I snap. _So, now what? He blew up the submarine, and he's delusional about all this island mumbo jumbo when he's not even on Jacob's list._

After a pause, Locke speaks again. "Aren't you even the slightest bit curious as to why we're here?"

"You stupid, selfish ass!" I yell, jumping to my feet and sending the chair flying behind me. "I'm trying to do what's right, and you just ruined it! If people want to leave, who the hell are you to tell them they can't?"

"We can't leave," Locke counters. "Don't you understand? This is a place of miracles!"

"You're insane."

"And you're cheating," he retorts, all joking has vanished. "You're all cheating. Living in houses with air-conditioning and refrigerators, eating leftover chicken—"

"Whoa, excuse me?" I interrupt, grimacing. "I don't eat chicken. I _know _a chicken, thank you very much."

"I have something for you," Locke says randomly.

Ben's hand on my arm tightens, but I shake my head and he removes it.

"Here, it's in the front pocket of my vest."

I unsnap the button on the front of his hunting vest and pull out a tiny little rod carved out of wood. I roll it around in the palm of my hand, confused. "What the hell is this?"

"I heard you need help finding some wolves. That whistle should do the trick." Locke smiles up at me, friendly, like we're buddies sharing some kind of inside joke.

So I punch him hard in the face.

I've underestimated myself. My hit was hard enough to knock him over in the chair. It takes three people to get me off him.

"You stupid bastard!" I scream, clawing at the men pulling me out the door. "You've ruined _everything!_"

Locke spits out blood with that stupid delusional smile still fixed on his lips.

. . . . .

Now it's Jack's turn to fly off the handle. "You gave me your word," he says accusingly.

The house Ben put Jack, Kate, Sayid, Mr. Eko and Locke in is furnished with all the typical dated pleasantries—ugly (and probably uncomfortable) couches, two small bookshelves full of odds and ends, a kitchen table, and an assortment of cooking utensils.

Actually, now that I think about it, why didn't I get this house? Or at the very least, Sawyer? It would have saved Juliet a headache or two.

I can see Juliet listening in from the doorway. She hasn't been crying, but her eyes are puffy with anticipation. I guess she's been cried out for the time being—Goodwin, news of her sister, and now the inevitable truth that she's stuck here for good.

"Yeah?" I throw my arms up in exasperation. "Well, I didn't ask Mr. Fireworks to blow up your ticket out of here. Take it up with him. I'm done."

I leave in a huff.

Ethan confronts me when I go to visit Claire. "We had to remove Charlie."

"Why?" I ask. "Is he okay?"

"Drug withdrawal. He was becoming violent."

"Is he okay?" I repeat.

Ethan shrugs. "Claire's almost ready to go into labor. I haven't had the time to check on him. You want me to?"

"No," I say quickly. "No, keep an eye on Claire. How is she doing?"

"No complications so far."

"Good, good."

"You want to see her? She's asleep right now, but I could—"

"No, don't wake her up." The truth is I want to talk to her. She's the only person I can think of who doesn't have some kind of ulterior motive. When she says something, you believe her. It's nice to speak with genuine people.

_Rose and Bernard. _Their names pop into my head.

They were my favorite couple on the show. Where are they now? I hope they're okay.

The dog whistle Locke made me might actually work. I remember he had made one for Walt so he could find his dog Vincent.

I feel guilty all over again. Locke hasn't had the chance to go through any of his revelations yet. He's still pretty much stuck in wonderstruck season 1 mode. He made something that can actually help me, and as thanks I beat the crap out of him.

It's such a vague memory. Almost like it didn't happen.

_Is this what it felt like for my father? It's so easy to hurt other people. It's the quickest way to feel powerful._

I end up in front of my house. _My _house. The one everyone avoids.

I stomp up the stairs and push open the door.

_I need to find something, anything that disproves my theory. I'm not like my father. I'm not._

Drawers fly across the room as I frantically search their contents. I throw everything out of my closet and onto my bed. Deep in the corner, hidden behind a small DHARMA poster tacked to the wall, I find a hole. Inside the hole I find a box. My hands are shaking so hard when I pull it out that I accidently drop it.

Old photographs scatter across the floor like weathered rose petals. I pick them up at random, hoping to shed some light on my past-future-whatever-the-hell-it-is life.

The first photo is of me standing next to a tree. I'm not even paying attention to the photographer. Photo after photo I become more and more stressed. None of these are helpful in deciphering who I was—who I'm going to be. I catch sight of a group photo: me, Sawyer, Juliet, Jin, and Miles all smiling for the camera.

Miles.

_Oh, shit. The freighter!_

I'm about to jump up and run back to Ben's house when I spot a photo lying alone off to the side. It's a yellowed photo of me in a hospital, smiling widely and holding a newborn baby up against my face—a chubby blonde baby with strikingly blue eyes and a generous amount of dark black eyelashes.


End file.
